Angel of the Bat
by MJTR
Summary: The life changing religious odyssey of Cassandra Cain. Inspired by the outline by Gail Simone
1. Chapter 1

Angel of the Bat

A fanfiction by MJTR

[[Author's Intro: While looking around at various unpublished comic book concepts and ideas, I came across Gail Simone's "Angel of the Bat" storyline, and found myself _very_ disappointed the thing never came to fruition. It seemed like such a good, interesting concept, and one that could lead to some potentially interesting storylines, and decided to take a crack at playing with the ideas in it. Bear in mind that this is not meant to be Simone's story, but is my version inspired by hers.

Credit for the main Batgirl symbol goes to the awesome Glee-Chan on Deviantart, check her out for more cool comic related stuff. The stained-glassing was done by me.

Written with endless dedication to Sadie. Not simply the best beagle in all the world, but my very dearest friend, and one of the surest signs in all the world to me that God really is out there. August 21, 1997- December 23rd, 2014. Forever loved.]]

It had begun as a standard night on patrol. No big breakouts, no new faces of crime, nothing special.

It was just after 3 AM, a few blocks down from the Gotham City General Hospital. A small dog, a miniature poodle, came running out of the automatic doors as his master came out after him. He was a portly old man dressed in black, a white color covering his neck and an umbrella at his side, having noticed it had stopped raining since he had come. Most of his hair had been lost with age, but he had managed to comb most of the remainder over his scalp. It was only a few blocks to the rectory where he lived, and he hadn't brought his wallet to hail a cab with.

Guiding his dog along the streets, the old one turned with the sound of man in a nearby alley calling, "Hey, pops!" A young man seated against a dumpster, holding out a plastic cup. "Spare some change?"

He smiled, pulling on his dog's leash and entering the alley, kneeling before the young man and saying, "I'm afraid I didn't bring my wallet this evening. But I think I have something else I can offer you. How about-"

It was as far as he was permitted to get. There was a smashing sound resonating through the alley a moment later, a baseball bat crashing across his back, the old man yelling in pain as he fell to the ground, his dog barking and snarling, trying its hardest to compensate for its size as the one with the bat entered the alley, the one sitting against the dumpster flashing him a grin as he got to his feet.

"Sorry there padre," he chuckled. "But you of all people prolly know, angel dust don't come easy."

"You spend all night on that one?" His compatriot asked as he began frisking the old man's pockets. "What the hell? He really didn't bring anything with him?"

"Aw come on!" The first complained as the dog continued to bark. "I thought he was onea those "praise the lord types" not onea those, "live in poverty" ones!"

The two didn't even notice as a shadow slowly began to cover them. "What the hell are you talkin' about? And hey, dog, shut the hell up!"

The dog made a lunge and dug its teeth into the uncovered leg of the one with the bat. He let out a yell and tried to shake it off as his friend reached into his pocket and produced a handgun.

"Shoulda kept your dog on a shorter leash old man," he sneered as his partner managed to kick it off. "Let's hope all dogs go to heaven, huh?"

Before he could pull the trigger, the shadow made its descent. A figure clad in black had jumped from the rooftop and landed on the armed one's back, kicking the gun out of his reach. The one with the bat yelled in response, though it wasn't clear what he said. He pulled the bat back intent on crashing into the figure, but it caught the attack, kicking him in the stomach and broke the bat over its knee, tossing the pieces aside and punching him in the face, seemingly knocking him unconscious.

The old man pushed himself onto his knees, wiping at his face a little and grabbing his dog's leash. The figure, who he could identify as female, put out her hand, helping the man to his feet.

"Come," she said simply.

The man was on his way up before he yelled, "Behind you!"

She had anticipated he would be back up, and, not releasing the man's hand, curved herself to the side and kicked him in the face, putting him again to the ground. When the old man was on his feet, she resumed her attack, grabbing and twisting the perp's arm until the sound of cracking bone and screams filled the alley. She looked intently towards the other before the old man yelled, "Enough!" She turned to him and settled a little as he said. "If you can… Please, help me back to the hospital." The figure nodded, going to his side to give him support, pulling him upwards, one of the old man's hand kept firmly on the leash. "My cell phone, it's in my right pocket. Could you hand it to me?" She complied wordlessly, scooping up his dog with her free hand and motioning to him it was alright to let go of the leash. His hand now free, he dialed 911, and when he received an answer, said, "I need to speak with Gotham emergency. There are two young men laying beaten in an alley on 34th street."

This was the first thing to happen that surprised the black figure. She would have put in word to the police that two criminals were awaiting arrest, but this man had called that they be taken in for care, first and foremost.

In the light of the hospital the figure was unquestionably Batgirl, unknown to the public as Cassandra Cain. Garbed entirely in black except for the yellows of her belt and outline of a bat that adorned her front, the man was intrigued to see her as she, for reasons she followed him to his room.

Cassandra did not usually see victims through after bringing them to safety, but it had proven a quiet night in Gotham and somehow, this old man had intrigued her since he had insisted on making the call.

After the preliminary screenings found he had not broken any bones, he was admitted to a room, a plucky nurse chuckling as she entered.

"And you and Snowball had just left this wing Father Ryan," she said. "And you take a step outside and wind up right back in." She turned towards Batgirl, continuing to laugh, "And God sent you a very special angel to get you in here alright, didn't he?"

Cassandra wondered for a moment why she had called the man father before he laughed a little himself and replied, "The lord works in mysterious ways Cathy."

"Now when morning comes you'll have to call somebody. I know Snowball won't bring anyone here any trouble, but hospital policy, you know?"

"Of course, of course," he insisted. "No Cathy I'm feeling fine. A few day's rest and I'll be back on my feet… Could you give us a moment?"

"Oh certainly! You just call if you need anything."

The two were soon left alone, the old man turning to Cassandra and saying, "I didn't have much of a chance to thank you properly."

"Why did she call you father?" Cassandra asked.

Ryan smiled, "She's a member of my congregation. My name is George Ryan, Monsignor."

"Mon… Seen… Your?" Cassandra asked, trying to sound the word out, still unsure of its meaning.

"I take it you aren't a Catholic then." He said, still smiling. Cassandra was sure that she knew that word, but was unsure of where, but decided to press on.

"Why did you call the hospital?" She asked next.

"I wanted to be sure those two received care as soon as it could come. I am very glad that you saved me, but I want to be sure they will be out and about again."

This came as a surprise to Cassandra. She had not stayed around after many attacks on the innocents of Gotham, but was sure most of them didn't harbor such good will towards their assailants. "They could have killed you."

"And maybe after tonight they will know they shouldn't do such things again," Ryan insisted. "We all stray from the path sometimes, but we all deserve the chance to find it again."

Cassandra had rarely felt so perplexed by a man's mantra. Most of Gotham thought the criminals of the city below them, a species apart, to be captured and put away forever. Even if he insisted otherwise, sometimes it was hard to believe Bruce didn't sometimes think this way. That the battle on crime was more about caging animals than securing people in the hopes of reform. Cassandra didn't want to linger on these thoughts and quickly said, "I must go."

"Wait!" Ryan said, pointing with his good hand towards the clothes he had come in wearing that had been replaced by hospital scrubs. "My left pocket. Please, I don't have much to offer you, but I hope it is a little token of my appreciation. Snowball and I are so thankful."

Cassandra went to his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be a large, beaded necklace, a small T shape at its bottom with a man etched into it.

"Take one of my cards too," Ryan said. "I'd be so happy to see you again, hopefully out of costume next time."

Cassandra pulled out one of his cards, marked, "Monsignor George Ryan. Saint Michael's Cathedral, Gotham City".

"You wouldn't recognize me" Cassandra said.

"That's alright," Ryan replied. "We get newcomers all the time. Maybe I'll just have to treat every one of them like they just saved my life." And he began to laugh again.

Clutching the strange necklace and the card, Cassandra made her way out, perplexed by the man's happiness and methodology, but deciding then she would have to see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

Since her official adoption by Bruce a few months earlier, Cassandra had spent her days being slowly home schooled by Alfred. It was agreed to be the best arrangement, since Cassandra lacked the social skills to properly go to school the way the Robins had and she could still get the information she was looking for. It was their hope that maybe someday, she would be able to out and interact freely in Gotham the way the rest of Bruce's family did.

Alfred was slow and patient every step of the way with teaching her how to read and write. In spite of everything she had already played a part in, it was the simple meaning and coding behind the symbols on every page that continued to confound her. Bruce had promised he would always find her another way to receive case files and investigate, but Cassandra continued learning for her own benefit. She wanted there to be more to her life than her horrid youth and time as a vigilante.

With the previous night's oddities still in her mind, Cassandra quietly interrupted Alfred's lesson on the placements of I's and E's to say, "Alfred, can I ask a question?"

"Certainly Miss Cassandra," he said. "What did you have in mind?" She reached into her pocket and produced the beaded necklace Father Ryan had given to her, holding it out for him to see. Alfred gave her a curious look as he ran a hand over it. "Where did you get this?"

"Someone I helped last night," Cassandra said.

"Interesting… This is a rosary Miss Cassandra. Did the man have any affiliation with anyone?"

"Said he was a… Mon-seen-your," Cassandra said, trying to remember exactly how it was pronounced.

"A monsignor?" Now Alfred was intrigued. "You may have helped a very important man last night Miss Cassandra. The rosary is an important object of prayer amongst members of the Catholic Church. You're supposed to say a certain prayer on each of these beads here, you see… I don't have much more specific information than that I'm afraid. I'm not a Catholic myself."

Cassandra knew all of the words he had said, but still didn't know what to make of the gift. "What is a Catholic?"

Alfred gave her a sad little smile, "I don't think I could just explain it to you now Miss Cassandra. Maybe another day." He was about to continue his lesson when there was a loud ringing at the door. "Excuse me a moment."

Cassandra was left alone in the Wayne Manor study as Alfred made his way downstairs to the door, the unquestionable voice of a bubbly Stephanie Brown echoing through the halls and into her place.

"Hi Alfred!" She said. "Is my costume finished with yet?"

"Of course Miss Stephanie," Alfred replied. "I must go down to the 'basement' to retrieve it however. You may wait in the study with Miss Cassandra if you please. Is Master Tim going to be late tonight?"

"Tim is trying to nab some extra credit tutoring kids after class. All our teachers think he's out all night, every night partying."

"Well, I suppose it isn't an altogether inaccurate assumption."

In minutes the perky blonde was tossing aside her backpack and sitting next to Cassandra, flashing her a big smile. "Hey Cassie. What are you working on there?"

"English." Cassandra said before referring to the rosary. "And this."

Stephanie's look almost matched Alfred's. "Huh… You're a Catholic now?"

The word was beginning to crawl under Cassandra's skin. "I don't know what that means!" She complained, Stephanie laughing a little.

"Cool your jets. Where'd you get this?"

Cassandra again repeated her story, though this time her listener agreed she was not sure what a "Mon-seen-your" was. When her story finished, Stephanie's response was, "Well, good work as always."

"But what does it mean? What does any of it mean?"

"You'll have to be a little more specific," Stephanie replied. "But even then I guess there's a big obvious question in there too… How much do you know about religion?"

"It's… Praying, right?" Cassandra said. "You talk to someone in your head… And that is the someone who created you, right?"

"Well, that's the basics," Stephanie said. "You've never done it, have you?"

"My father and mother created me," Cassandra said. "I don't ever want to talk to them."

Stephanie laughed, "If that was it, I'd never do it myself. I don't need to talk to my old man and Mom's a cell phone call away."

"Do you do it?" Cassandra asked.

"Yeah, sometimes," Stephanie said. "I mean, I don't really do it like I'm _supposed_ to. But I've been in some bad, bad spot before… That's when I've done it, mostly." She leaned back and sighed a little, "Don't ask me much about that though. I'm a Methodist."

"Another label," Cassandra muttered. "What does any of it mean?"

Stephanie looked around on the table a little before grabbing a sheet of paper out of one of Cassandra's notebooks. "Let me try and draw you a picture, okay?" She said. "Now let's say right here," she drew a picture and a capital G, "Let's say this is the world's first superhero, okay? We'll call him 'Goodman', because I just had a full day at school and my originality circuitry is a little fried," Cassandra nodded, looking at the page intently. "Now, let's say that 'Goodman' was the biggest, best superhero ever, and every hero who came after him wanted to be just like him, but they didn't agree how to do it." She drew an oval around the G, "Now Goodman and his virtues are an umbrella. Down here," she drew a line and a crude bat, "Is Batman, who uses some of Goodman's tactics, but not all of them. And over here," she drew another line and then an S, "Is Superman, and he uses _other_ stuff Goodman said. And farther over _here_," she drew a W, "Is Wonder Woman, who uses _other_ things Goodman said. Every one of them _wants_ to be the new Goodman, but none of them can agree _how_."

"Alright," Cassandra replied. "What does Goodman have to do with people in your head?"

"Maybe this wasn't such a good example," Stephanie admitted. "But let's just put it like that. The guy you saved last night? He's a Superman Goodman follower. I'm a Batman Goodman follower. Same inspiration, different practice."

"Then what am I?" Cassandra asked.

"Umm… See, this is why this is a bad example," Stephanie said. "You're… Not under this umbrella." Cassandra looked at her, "You're Batgirl okay? This is just association, I can't take that away. Know what, this is stupid," she crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. "Don't even worry about it."

"But I want to learn," Cassandra said. "I want to know why he called the hospital before the police. Why he wanted to be sure they were safe after they attacked him."

Alfred returned with Stephanie's uniform, "Good as new," he assured her, handing it off. "Are you two well?"

"As one can trying to explain spirituality to Cassie." Stephanie took her costume from Alfred and gave her friend another smile. "I'd stick around, but I have to hide this thing before Mom gets home from work. I might see you out on patrol tonight, okay?"

"Of course," Cassandra said, giving her a happy little nod, as if to tell her goodbye. Cassandra turned back towards her work and the rosary, still wondering about the man.

And making the decision to see him again. She still had too many questions not to. The only question left was if it would be Cassandra, or Batgirl who would pay that visit.


	3. Chapter 3

"You should probably take that off before you see him dear. We don't usually like them being worn while you're out and about."

Yet another confusing convention: a necklace you were not supposed to wear.

With help from Stephanie, Cassandra had looked into where the church on Father Ryan's card had been located and what his office hours were. Cassandra recognized the church from a few encounters she had been a part of just outside of it, but had never really looked inside. Sunlight was blaring through the brightly colored stained glass, depicting images she wasn't quite sure how to process. Chandeliers hung above rows and rows of pews, which she could only presume would be uncomfortable to sit in, leader to a decorated altar, a podium and a box of some kind full of candles. In the center, both in glass and carved of wood, was the same figure from the rosary, hanging from the T-shape.

Cassandra went over what she had picked up over the years. The man's name was Jesus, and he was depicted in the way he was dying. This was always confusing to her. Everything she had heard seemed to indicate he was a good man, so why was he so regularly shown in the way he had died? Maybe this would be the day she would find out.

"Excuse me? Is there something I can help you with?" She had jumped a little at the sound as a woman with short brown hair entered behind her, garbed in a white sweater and khakis. Cassandra herself was garbed in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, rosary hanging from her neck.

It was not the same one that had been given to her by Father Ryan, which was tucked inside one of the zippable, inside pockets of her hoodie, but another she had purchased, in the hopes of looking the part but not making it obvious she was the one who had saved him. She had thought quite a bit about which identity to approach him in, but ultimately decided Cassandra would be best, since it was against regulation to use the costume for anything but crime-fighting work. And, after all, Father Ryan had said he hoped to see her outside her costume when she returned.

"George Ryan," Cassandra said. "I wanted to see the… Monsignor." She managed to say on her first try.

"I think he's a little tied up at the moment, but we can definitely go see. Did you have some questions?" The woman asked.

"Many," Cassandra said.

"Alright, well, come this way," the woman said, leading her out of the chapel proper and into a hallway connected to the entrance.

Cassandra silently thought over her cover. If asked why she didn't speak much or seemed direct, it was a two way street: English was her second language and her parents had instructed her to speak very directly. If she were to be asked to read, she would maintain she did not know English well enough. The very real Chinese ancestry on her maternal side would help with the illusion. In the meantime, she reminded herself, she was just to stay calm and ask questions carefully.

The woman she had spoken to stopped to peak into an office and ask a few questions before she turned to Cassandra, bidding she remove the rosary from her neck and then feel free to enter.

Father Ryan's office was decorated with a number of landscape paintings and certificates all along the walls and a bookshelf on the right side of his desk. The desk itself had a number of trinkets strewn across it, including another rosary, a small, wooden T-shape, framed photos of the Monsignor with other people, one of whom looked exactly like him. A laptop was set aside and a number of papers were set centermost, next to a cup of coffee, half of a cold-cut sandwich and, to Cassandra's pleasant surprise, Snowball, curled up and seemingly asleep, though perking up a little as Cassandra entered.

"Hello there," Father Ryan said, motioning she enter and take the seat in front of his desk. "Come in, come in… You're not allergic to dogs are you?"

"No," Cassandra said.

"Excellent. Better safe than sorry, you know?" He said, stroking the dog's fur a little before extending one of his arms. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Monsignor George Ryan, and this is Snowball."

"Lin Chu," Cassandra said, taking his hand and shaking it. She had contemplated using her real name, but knew she could not hold up her disguise as an immigrant if he were to find out Cassandra Cain was the latest of Bruce Wayne's adopted children.

"Lin, what can I do for you? Let me warn you real quick I need to look over some of these things while we're talking. I just got out of the hospital and need to do some catching up."

"Yes, of course," Cassandra said. "I am very sorry."

"Oh I'm feeling fine now," Father Ryan insisted. "Jessica said you had some questions for me?"

"Yes. I read about what happened to you the other night." It wasn't a lie, a short story about it had been published in the newspaper.

"If this is about The Batgirl I can't tell you anything," Father Ryan chuckled. "She saved me but I hardly had a chance to say thank you."

"No. Not that," Cassandra said. "I read what you said about the men. The ones who attacked you."

"I'm actually thinking about giving this Sunday's sermon on what happened," Father Ryan said. "It was an awful experience, to be sure, but we can always learn something from those bad places in our lives. A time for everything, you know?" Cassandra looked at him blankly. "A time to be born, a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to uproot."

Now Cassandra was left to contemplate these words as well. Those were all things she knew about of course, all simple, everyday things. But being ambushed in an alley and beaten by criminals was not such a normal thing. At least it was not supposed to be. And yet Father Ryan still treated it completely in passing. Cassandra had meant to wait longer before going on, but could not stop herself from asking, "What is a Catholic?"

Father Ryan gave her a little more of his chuckle as he took a sip out of his coffee mug. "Surely you mean what are we all about, right?" When he expression did not change he frowned a little, "Oh… You were being literal?"

"Yes," she said.

Father Ryan blinked twice and adjusted himself in his seat, "Well, I'm a little surprised you came to me for that… Um… Well… Historically, Catholicism is the oldest branch of Christianity."

Cassandra knew that word, she was sure of it. It was related to Christmas, she at least could be sure of that much, but still didn't think she understood it entirely. "I'm not from America," she lied. "There isn't much Christianity where I come from."

"That explains a few things actually," Father Ryan said. Cassandra had to bat an eye at this in her mind, but was sure he was not trying to be condescending. "Well, the most basic aspect is simply that Christians follow and believe in the words and deeds of Jesus Christ."

_Goodman_ Cassandra said in her mind. "More. Please."

"Well," Father Ryan was now setting aside his papers, as if to offer her more attention, "Christianity holds that two-thousand years ago, God came to earth in the form of a man named Jesus." _God_, Cassandra thought. A concept she knew, but never really meditated on. "And Jesus came to earth to do many miracles and, ultimately, to die for our sins."

_Die for our sins_. Cassandra had heard similar words many times. Many of the supervillains she and the others had faced over the years had brought with them the promise, "Gotham will die for its sins".

A sin, she had gathered, was an act of evil. These were the kinds of criminals who had come to Gotham to punish it for the many criminals it had produced. But why did this God-man die for "our" sins?

"What does that mean?" Cassandra asked. "Die for our sins?"

"Oh my," Father Ryan said, shaking his head a little. "I had hoped your questions would have easier answers than this… Listen, Lin, I sponsor a bible study for young men and women your age. Maybe you could try coming there and I could answer your questions in a better setting. I am terribly sorry, but Snowball and I have so much work to do here."

"That is fine," Cassandra said, unsure of how much she was lying and trying to figure out just what a "bible study" would be.

"Well great, here," he said, grabbing a card identical to the one he had already given her and jotting some information down on it, "We meet at six PM on Wednesday nights." He rose from his chair and walked to the bookcase, pulling one of the giant tomes out from it, "And I'd like you to take this with you as well."

"I can't read… English," Cassandra added quickly.

"I think I have one here in Mandarin. Can you read in Mandarin?" He asked.

"No. No the first is fine," Cassandra said. "I have friends. They can help."

"Well here you are then," Father Ryan said, passing her the enormous book. "And I hope to see you again very soon."

As Cassandra made her way out of his office, her mind swiftly turned to how Bruce would respond to her latest bit of detective work.


	4. Chapter 4

The nights were finally beginning to pick up again, which Cassandra welcomed after the increasing confusion and questions of the past few days.

"Some of Cobblepot's favored thugs were sighted on their way to the Flugelheim Museum," Bruce explained in the cave, strapping on his gauntlets. "There's a gala out there tonight for an aspiring artist. I don't know what Cobblepot's planning, but the police insisted they wanted some back up."

"To the museum then?" Cassandra asked.

"Robin and Spoiler are already on their way there," Bruce replied, moving upward to his cape and cowl. "I want you to come with me and deal with Cobblepot personally. He always keeps the best guards to himself."

Cassandra pulled on her masked hood and nodded, climbing into the back of the Batmobile as the two went roaring out into the hills of Gotham Heights, speeding towards the city.

"I heard you had a run in with George Ryan," Bruce said. "Did you know he was a friend of Tim's family?"

"The Drakes?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes. Oversaw his parent's wedding, Jack's second one, Tim's baptism, everything. He's mentioned it a few times when we've driven by the church."

Cassandra considered asking a few more questions, but Batman's hand was to his ear, muttering to Tim and Stephanie, "Keeping focus over there?"

"Yeah," Cassandra could hear Tim over the radio built into her uniform. "I definitely do recognize a few of these guys too. If anything happens, we'll be the first to know. Are you guys heading to the Iceberg Lounge then? You don't think that's too obvious?"

"No, Cobblepot will want to be where he knows he's safe. Even if the police know those are his men, they'll need more evidence to convict him if he was just sitting and waiting for them to catch up."

As the two continued to race through the streets of Gotham they eventually parked just a few blocks down from the seemingly abandoned Iceberg Lounge restaurant. Bruce and Cassandra were both quick to getting out and grappling to the rooftops for a better look at the Penguin's defenses, The Batman being the first to mutter a confused, "What's all that about?"

Cassandra turned to him, confused, as he pointed downward towards the shotgun wielding guards just in front of the door. "Yes?" Cassandra asked. "The guards?"

"No," Batman said. "Look to your right."

Cassandra scanned the area as he had instructed and, to her shock, noticed several bloody corpses laid strewn about, riddled with bullet wounds, shotgun shells from the looks of them. She looked back towards the guards at the door to confirm their weapons. Definitely shotguns.

"Notice anything else?" Batman asked. "They're dressed the exact same way."

It was true, Cassandra realized. The dead men and the ones posted at the door wore identical pinstripe suits, all of their hair buzzed short and out of the way. It was clear: the guards at the door had killed the other members of their staff.

"But why?" Cassandra asked, as much to herself as to Bruce.

"I don't know, but those two are in for a rude awakening," Batman snarled, reaching into his belt and producing a small pellet. "Follow my lead."

Within moments the two focused guards were frantically searching and coughing, finding themselves in the midst of a dense smoke from the pellet Batman had tossed. A few shotgun blasts went up into the air, but nothing made contact with the two stalkers of the night, who quickly disposed of the two, Batman resuming his contact with Robin as they approached the door.

"How are things looking on your side?" He asked.

"I was gonna call you a second ago," Robin said, his voice somewhat frantic, the sound of a few gun blasts in the background. "The artist guy, Vignarolli? He's okay, Spoiler has him. But uh… I don't know how to say this… Penguin's goons are killing each other."

"Your side too?" Cassandra asked as the two walked into the lounge.

"I mean it just came the hell outta nowhere," Tim said, trying to yell over the blasts. "I gotta go deal with them, but something weird is going on here. Really weird."

The two dropped their attention to Robin as they looked forward into the icy-colored lounge, the smallest twitches coming from Batman as he looked on. Nine of the men in the tailored suits were spread across the room, blood dripping from their chests and mouths, only one of them making the slightest indication he was still breathing. Tables and chairs were tossed aside, shattered glass covering the floor, destruction all around them.

In the restaurant's center stood four of varying sizes and heights, two gripping machine guns, one with a set of brass knuckles and a third looking over a pair of knives.

"You'd best see yourself out Bat," the one with the knives said, taking a battle stance. "We're only here for Cobblepot… At least tonight we are."

"We ain't afraid of you!" Chimed in one of the machine gun wielders. "The Iceberg Lounge is under new management!"

"Really? And who would that be?" Batman said, his eyes running over all of them, Cassandra recognizing his expression as the one he wore when toying with his opponents.

"He's not ready to make his grand entrance just yet. But hey, maybe he'll be more apt when he knows the streets are a little _cleaner!_"

With his last word the one with the brass knuckles ran at Batman. Though the two were similar in height, Batman had no difficulty dodging to the side and kicking him square in his stomach, followed by a swift punch in the nose that put the attacker off his feet.

It was then the attackers cut loose. The sound of ricocheting bullets filled the room as Batman and Batgirl quickly retreated behind two of the cool colored pillars decorating the lounge. Machine gun fire took over for around a minute before a momentary quiet to reload. The Dark Knights took their moment then and lunged out from their hiding places.

Batman delivered a punch square across the jaw of one of them as Cassandra rushed forward and bent the other's arm, forcing him to relinquish the hold on his gun and knocking him to the ground with a leg sweep. She was about to go to work on the arm with the knife-wielder made his way over. Cassandra briefly released her first captive to catch the twin blades heading towards her, again breaking her opponent's grip, grabbing behind his head, and smashing his face into her knee, knocking him backwards with blood dripping out his nose. With a quick curve and stomp Cassandra rendered the gunman's arm useless as he shrieked in pain. "You'll recover," she assured him quietly, as she jumped forward towards the knife wielding thug and delivered a decisive blow to his head, knocking him unconscious. Cassandra turned to see Batman deliver the finishing blow to both of his opponents, smashing their heads together and tossing them both aside.

Quickly so as not to keep him waiting, Cassandra rushed to grab a chair and propped the bloodied man up onto it to ensure it would not flow down his throat. With an approving nod, Batman led her down through the lounge, where he knew Cobblepot's private suite would be.

"Robin, Spoiler, what's going on down there? Is everything secure?" Batman asked.

"Yeah, looks like we're in the clear here… I still don't have any idea what just happened though."

"Well, let's see if Cobblepot has some answers," Batman muttered as he pointed Cassandra forward to a pair of oak doors marked, "Manager's Suite. Do not disturb." A keypad was connected to the doors, which Batman made his way towards.

"Double checked these before we left," he said, typing in the code 2473 and waiting for confirmation. To his irritation he was denied access. "Damn, must have switched them before we came in."

To both his and Cassandra's surprise, there came a metallic turning sound: the unlocking mechanism. Giving it a moment or two, Batman proceeded to the oak doors and delivered a swift kick, forcing them open.

"Always 'ave to make an entrance don'tcha Bats?" The small, cockney voiced man cackled as the two heroes made their way in. "I even unlocked the bloody thing for ya!"

"What's this all about Cobblepot?" Batman demanded. "What were you trying to do to Vignarolli and why were your men shooting one another?"

"Like ta get right to the point, don'tcha," Cobblepot sneered. He stood around four feet ten and was grossly overweight, his face seemed painfully scrunched at all times and clashed strongly with his oversized nose. A large cigar was wrapped around his sausage like fingers, and he took a long drag on it before he said, "I idn't ave anything to do with it."

Batman made his way over to the seated villain, the difference in their size now even more impressive as he looked down into his eyes. "Didn't you?"

"No, I didn't," The Penguin sneered. "If I wanted a few pieces a' that snot nosed Vignarolli's a't, I'd a gotten it fair. No, a few a my boys, Jimmy Wockets, Evan Drum, all that lot, all said they were handlin' some pick up duty fer the lounge t'night. I'm sittin' ere enjoyin' a fine Cuban when Rye'son looks over at me an says, "We don't work fer you no more". I shot im' in the gut with me umbrella, not gonna deny it, but the basta'd 'ad a gun ta my head. And then they all stat'd killin' eachotha. Simple as that Bats."

"So you really had nothing to do with any of this?" Batman said, not trusting a word he had just summarized.

"Piss off. I got security cameras all over this place if you wanna investigate furtha'," Cobblepot said.

Batman gave him a last intent stare before leading Cassandra away to find the surveillance footage, and just what had happened before they arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

Cassandra still had not even opened the book the monsignor had given her, remaining on her dresser as she wondered what to do with it. She could read a little, but didn't feel confident with the size of the book, and there had been questions all along the way thus far, the book sure to just make her ask more.

She considered asking Alfred to help her read it, but wasn't sure she wanted to take any more of his attention away from their studies. She could ask Bruce, but his work was also very time consuming, especially trying to figure out what had gone on the night a few nights ago with The Penguin's men. There was Barbara, but she didn't even know anything about what she had been experiencing.

It had been a while since she had made the journey to the East Side in daylight. Her English decent enough to give her guidance from bus to bus until she made her last stop, only a block or two away from her destination. Cassandra checked her watch, knowing she was arriving about half an hour early but not feeling bothered by it. She located the small house, more by the address than by memory, and knocked on the door a few times. When only silence answered her, Cassandra took a seat on the doorstep as the cars continued to buzz through the street, once in a while looking down at the book and double checking the rosary, still in her left pocket, still unsure of just what to make of it.

At last the long yellow school bus stopped just across the street, all sorts of teenagers pouring out, but only the one with long blonde hair concerning Cassandra.

"Cassie? What are you doing here?" Stephanie asked, fumbling around in her pockets for the front door key.

"Waiting for you," Cassandra said.

"Well obviously. I meant _why_," Stephanie said, unlocking the door and motioning her in, "My mom's covering for some of the afternoon shifters, otherwise she'd have just let you in."

Cassandra walked in slowly. The Brown home was small, but comfortable as she'd remembered from the few times she had come for more than a passing moment. Stephanie was already busying herself by retrieving a large pitcher of tea from the fridge and pouring a glass about half full, then pulling out a second pitcher of lemonade and filling the rest of it, which Cassandra observed with confusion and interest. "Is that normal?" She asked.

"Arnold Palmers? They aren't _un_normal," Stephanie said. When Cassandra gave her a blank look she quickly added, "I have no idea who that is either. But apparently he has good taste. Let me pour you one and you can tell me what's up."

Stephanie poured the second glass, mixing the contents around with a spoon hastily grabbed out of one of the drawers and passed it on to Cassandra, who had set the heavy tome down on her kitchen table. Stephanie sighed a little, smiling and shaking her head. "How did I know it was going to come to this?"

"Feeling distracted," Cassandra said. "I want to know what it means."

"And you came to me for that," Stephanie chuckled. "I told you, I'm a Batman girl. This is Superman stuff… Or whatever said. Superman, Batman, Godman, Jesusman, I don't even remember."

"But they have the same message," Cassandra said. "You told me."

"Same message, very different execution," Stephanie sighed. "This is why they hook you when you're young. It keeps you from questioning things… So what, do you really want me to read that whole thing to you?"

"Not all at once," Cassandra said. Stephanie looked at her for a moment before she burst out laughing. Cassandra gave her a smile, though she wasn't quite sure why it solicited such a reaction and took a sip of her drink.

"I'm gonna make Bruce pay for this," Stephanie said, regaining her composure little by little. "Tutors make really good money." She took a sip of her own concoction before laying a pat on Cassandra's back. "This really is a big deal to you, huh?"

"I want to learn," Cassandra said.

"Well, you're the only person I've ever known who could beat me in a, 'my dad's worse than your dad,' contest. I guess this is an acceptable prize." She was smiling now, "And you're one of my best friends. So I'll see what I can do." She went to open to the first page, but then muttered, "Great, it's one of those student bibles," and began flipping past the pages quickly, "Probably just a lot of stuff on what a horrible person premarital sex makes you. You don't have to worry about it and it's already too late for me."

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked.

"Baby. Remember? Aw who am I kidding, everybody's tried forgetting about it. Heck, I hoped _I'd_ forget about it by now… I think..."

"I never forgot," Cassandra said, taking Stephanie by surprise. "It says a lot. About you."

"That I was… Who am I kidding, I _am_ a really stupid teenager?" Stephanie asked.

"That you are brave," Cassandra said. "And how brave you would have to have been. I don't know everything, but I know you had… Alternatives."

"Not according to this book I didn't," Stephanie said with a finger open to the page she seemed to have been looking for. "And not according to me."

"It told you what to do?" Cassandra asked.

"Sort of," Stephanie said. "I mean, yes, it tells you what to do, but a lot of people, including me, think it's more important how it teaches you how to live. Not so much rule by rule but by telling you what you should value." Cassandra eyed Stephanie's hand as it slid off the table slowly before her fingers curled and gripped the fabric of her t-shirt just over her stomach. "I think about it… I think about _her_ more than I let anyone know… Even Tim. I wonder if I did the right thing, when I gave her away without even a good look… But I never had to wonder if it was right to have her." Stephanie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "This book, and me, decided that."

"I have felt a heart stop beating," Cassandra said. "It is horror."

Stephanie smiled a little, got up from her seat and blew her nose with a napkin sitting on the counter, balling it up and throwing it away before sitting back down. "Maybe it was a good reminder about never being alone… I'm sorry, what am I doing? This isn't supposed to be my sobbing hour, I'm supposed to be helping you read this."

"It is alright," Cassandra insisted.

"Yeah well, fair warning Cass, I may be a terrible teacher," Stephanie said, giving one more sigh before turning to the book, "You ready for this? Alright, here we go… In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth…"

[[Wanted to take a sec to apologize for all the time I spent away from this fic. I'm hoping my energy has been renewed to the point of regular chapter updates again]]


	6. Chapter 6

"_Never again will I doom the earth because of man, since the desires of man's heart are evil from the start; nor will I ever again strike down all living things, as I have done._

_As long as the earth lasts, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease"_

Stephanie gave a long sigh, a hand at the back of her head as she shut the book and looked towards her friend. "Yeah… That one's kinda hard to talk about… Isn't it?"

The look on Cassandra's face was a difficult combination of a blank stare and open-mouthed horror. Stephanie was surprised this was the first time she was really seeing it. It was now the third time Cassandra had come to be read to and taught, and she had remained quiet through the events in the Garden of Eden, Cain and Able and Stephanie's struggle to pronounce "Nephilim" (which she admitted she really had no idea was in there at all).

"To die is terrible," Cassandra said. "I knew already. The book said so too. That's why he said to not eat the fruit."

Stephanie sighed again and blew a breath up towards her face, "Yeah. I know."

"Their son killed his brother and was cursed."

"I know," Stephanie repeated.

"But God killed everyone…?"

"Almost," Stephanie said. "Almost." When it became clear that her friend really had no idea how to respond, Stephanie continued, "Cassie… This is why I really wasn't sure about this. I know you have a hard time with symbols and I don't even know if explaining it would be accurate. I don't know all that much about Catholics or what the differences are. It's weird enough that it keeps saying 'holocausts'," before muttering to herself, "Seriously, I know they're old fashioned, but that's just _really_ uncomfortable."

"Tell me what you know," Cassandra insisted. "Tell me what it means. To you."

"You really want to know?" Stephanie asked, Cassandra's look giving her reason to continue. "It's a story Cassie… It's an important story, some people will tell you it's real. But _I'm_ telling you it's a story. It didn't really happen." Now she was being given a look of confusion. "God, making the earth, a lot of the stuff that's in here later? That's all real… I mean, we… _I _at least, _I_ believe that's all real. But this right here," she tapped her finger on the book, "This was written a long, _long_ time ago. We've learned a lot of stuff in that time. And the world is a much different place. The flood? It happened because everyone but Noah and his kids and those animals were evil, horribly evil. Back then there was no jail, no asylum, no police. When there were bad people, you had to kill them, to the writer it was the only way."

Cassandra remained silent for about a minute before the increasingly exasperated Stephanie continued, "It isn't that bad things happen to bad people… It's that good things happen to good people." She reached across the table to one of her notebooks and tore out a page in an attempt to illustrate her point again. "Do you know why Batman wears the costume? Do you know why _you_ wear the costume?"

"Protecting identity, protection of the body," Cassandra summed up.

"Nope. That's why _I _wear a costume. Bruce? He wears it because of the power the suit carries. It's not about the protection, it's about the idea. People see Batman, they don't think 'I bet he's a billionaire playboy during the day.' They think, 'He's gonna kick my ass.' Batman is a symbol for punishing the wicked, and so is the flood, but it's also a symbol of love towards innocence." Cassandra's expression had now gone completely blank as Stephanie leaned into her hand and muttered, "Bad example? I'm not even entirely sure of what I just said…" She mentally reminded herself that in spite of the awkwardness, she had been completely prepared for the situation to be about a hundred times worse. "Can I try something else?"

"Go ahead," Cassandra said.

"See all this?" Stephanie asked, grabbing and flipping through at least three-fourths of the pages in the tome. "If you want me to be honest, I don't know a lot of this very well. I know the basics but," she stopped and glanced at the page she was flipping past. "_Tobit_? I've never even heard of that one… The point is I'm saying maybe we don't just try and handle this beginning to end."

"How else do you read a book?" Cassandra asked.

"That's the thing Cass, it's not one book, it's a lot of books. And you read _those_ beginning to end, but I think, circumstances being what they are, we can permit ourselves to jump around a little. Again, this part right here," she said, pointing to the last quarter of the book, "I know it a lot better. And if you ask me, it's a little more important."

"How?"

"Y'know that guy on the end of that rosary of yours? Let me tell you why he's there."

Cassandra glanced outside as the sun was beginning to set and mentioned they were going later than usual. "I don't mind if you don't," Stephanie said. "I wanna feel like we're making some progress here."

She was considering the way she's be prefacing what she would be reading before there was an audible opening from the first floor, Stephanie turning towards her door and calling, "Hey Mom!" and telling Cassandra, "I'll be right back."

As Stephanie went to greet her mother, Cassandra studied the page she had opened to and, with a little effort, made out the name, "Matthew" written across the top.

Cassandra finally made it back to Wayne Manor well past nightfall, walking in to find only Alfred home, seated in the parlor as if waiting for her.

"Ah, good evening Miss Cassandra," he said. "Masters Wayne and Tim have already departed for the evening. Master Wayne said you shouldn't be concerned and should just rest. The night has been quiet, Maxie Zeus was the closest thing to a true concern on their plate."

"Thank you Alfred," Cassandra said.

"I have prepared dinner, if you haven't eaten already," Alfred continued.

"I ate with Stephanie."

"Very good. Ah, and Miss, there was something else," Cassandra gave him her attention. "Master Wayne wanted me to tell you he is well aware you are delving into a rather personal, complicated matter right now. He is well aware he can sometimes be difficult to approach, especially in a matter like this one," he knelt down to look Cassandra in her eyes, "But he cares for you deeply, and wants it clear you can speak to him. Said he knows you aren't used to it, but that is what a father is supposed to do."

She gave him a smile and said, "Thank you," excusing herself to her room to meditate on the second half of her lesson with Stephanie.


	7. Chapter 7

It was only a little past six the next morning, but Cassandra found she could not sleep. Thoughts of Stephanie's words were still ringing in her mind, images forming whenever she shut her eyes, even just to blink.

Sights of a garden, its keepers and a snake. A sword of fire. One brother standing over another. An unfinished tower somewhere in the distance, all soon washed away by a mighty torrent.

When the water receded, she imagined a house, a young woman there on her knees, and a figure standing in shadow before her, saying, "Be not afraid".

The floodwaters had receded. Mankind had survived, but would still suffer in temptation of evil. This much she was already sure of. But were they always that way? Had a single snake in a garden made them like that? And what creator would wash them away instead of helping them?

And what kind of creator would choose one of these supposedly so wicked creatures to bear his son?

"I used to think the Catholics worshipped her," Stephanie had noted. "Tim set me straight on that. They pray to her, ask for advice, but it isn't worship… However similar it looks."

"Was she strong? Good?" Cassandra asked.

Stephanie chuckled. "You give me a lot of credit for carrying a baby to term. It was a lot harder back then. Trust me."

From there the reading had become much calmer, even pleasant, though her friend had stopped when she mentioned someone named Herod and said, "Uhh… I'm gonna go back to that part later… I'm finally getting some momentum again. Don't wanna kill it so fast."

And the reading became easier, if jarring after the other things she had described before. The coming of the "angel" Stephanie had described as magnificent, the birth of the baby boy in the stable, losing and then finding him again in the temple. It was easier to understand and not nearly so frightening.

She started to rouse a little when she heard a few steps outside her door, cracked just slightly. Alfred was easing the door open to look in on her. "Are you awake Miss Cassandra?"

"Yes," she said, sitting up.

"Very good," he gave her a small smile but then letting it fall and showing his more serious side. "Master Bruce has requested you join him in the cave, he wanted to fill you in on what happened while you were away last night."

"Thank you," she said, pulling herself out of bed, breathing a sigh to herself and then dressing once Alfred had left the doorway.

"Glad to see you," Bruce said when she joined him in the hideaway beneath the manor. He was still half-dressed in his costume and typing something into the gigantic computer against the wall. "You were out pretty late last night."

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said.

"Don't apologize," Bruce replied. "But in the future keep me more informed. If things start to fire up out there again, we need to be able to call you in. Tim and I are still just two people." Cassandra nodded. "And, unfortunately, I've got a bad feeling someone is determined to fan those flames, come over here."

Cassandra walked over to the computer as Bruce referred to one of the smaller windows on the monitor, a bloody, bound Maxie Zeus snarling at the camera that had captured his photo. "He was pretty torn up before we even got there." Bruce said, "And we reviewed the security footage," he referred to another screen, this one of men in Zeus's toga-costumes attacking others dressed the same way, "Another attack from within, just like what happened with Cobblepot."

"What does it mean?" Cassandra asked.

"That what happened with The Penguin's men wasn't an isolated incident." Bruce replied, shaking his head and pointing to one more of the windows open on the computer. "And this one didn't come without leaving a clue."

A word was spray-painted on the wall in the last shot Bruce was referring to, though Cassandra could not make it out. She turned towards him and he quickly read, "Pagan."

"What is that?" Cassandra asked.

"Guess Stephanie didn't get to that part yet," he muttered. "It can mean a lot of things, but judging by our anonymous friend's style, it's being used to separate his ideas from Zeus's."

"What do you mean?"

"I think we may be dealing with a religious zealot." When he noticed Cassandra did not fully comprehend his words, he followed with, "Like Anarky but with Christianity instead of governmental destruction."

Cassandra could feel her blood beginning to run cold, "What?"

"Someone who is letting their ideas trump their value of life," Bruce said sternly. "And I'm sorry that this is the time you have to learn about such a thing."

"Does this happen often?" She asked, still trying to push the fear out of her mind.

"Not often, no," Bruce said. "Just like most anarchists aren't like Anarky and most environmentalists aren't like Poison Ivy. It appears we're dealing with a, hopefully small, group of these extremists."

Upon seeing the continued look of quiet distaste on Cassandra's face, Bruce turned from his work towards her and said, "Even my work can be twisted into something murderous," and glared over towards one of the glass containers housing a worn, beaten Robin costume. "Don't let this discourage you. Maniacs will crop up in every circle of ideas, that doesn't taint the circle as a whole."

He turned to resume his work when Cassandra, after a quiet moment of thought, asked, "What do you think of this?"

"Think of what?" Bruce asked.

"What I am learning," Cassandra said.

Bruce turned back towards his work, "I think this is a matter where what I think shouldn't affect what you think."

Cassandra was surprised, she was sure he had never told her anything like that before. "I come for help," she said. "I almost always agree with what you tell me."

Bruce was quiet for a moment before replying, "I used to be in touch with a hero who called himself The Spectre… If what he said was true, he is literally the wrath of God." He paused again, considering his own words, "And if that's true, the God I know is very different from the one in your book… But like I said, this isn't my concern Cassandra."

"You never say that," she said.

"I never told Dick how to lead those Titans of his either. All of you need to know how to choose for yourselves, regardless of my thoughts. It'll be better for you, in and out of the costume."

Bruce glanced over his shoulder again briefly, "Barbra has all the same information I just gave you and we're going to turn our attention towards furthering our leads tonight. Can I expect to see you out there?"

"Yes," Cassandra said, Bruce smiling a little and turning his back again. Cassandra was about to leave when she remembered a conversation she had had the night before, "Oh," she said. "Stephanie wanted to make sure she was still welcome. Make sure you didn't suddenly fire her again," she laughed a little as she said it.

"She's really never going to let me live this down is she?" Bruce asked. "I'll tell you what I told Tim: If she wasn't such a wildcard, I'd have her out more often." He reached across his desk, clutching and then sipping a cup of coffee and muttering, "I hate wildcards."

Cassandra laughed and excused herself from the cave, the moment of levity doing just a little to relieve her before the thoughts of fear and distrust began to make their way back into her mind.

[[So as usual sorry for the long stretch between updates you guys. Finding my creative flow has been a complete pain in the ass lately, and this story has turned out a lot harder to just sit down and punch out than I thought it was going to be. Still, I'll hopefully be able to pick up the slack a little and get some more stuff out at least a little faster, just beat with me, thanks a lot as always]]


	8. Chapter 8

"I'll fill you in on your way, just keep moving."

Cassandra and Stephanie had left directly from her house just after she'd made up an excuse for the two to slip out, carrying her uniform in the backpack she carried.

"Robin was the one who took him out at Vignaroli's art show. I let him get started, but when it was clear he didn't want to talk, I took things into my own hands."

The voice of Oracle, Barbara Gordon, entered the digital conversation, "Did my Dad have anything new to offer you?"

"He didn't know much about him, but I managed to get him talking. Called Vignaroli a 'filthy heretic'." Batman said.

"He did describe himself in an interview as a, 'militant atheist'," Barbara said, "If you were right about these guys, that would definitely fit the bill."

"Trust me," Tim said, "I think they're the real deal. He had that tattoo… What was it you said that was?"

"Looked like Enochian," Batman replied. "I've sent the photos to you Oracle, see if you can try and confirm a match for this thing."

"What the heck is Enochian?" Stephanie asked.

There was silence between the five before Batman said, "It's a language."

"A _fictional_ language," Oracle said, frustrated. "I just did a search for it. Some kind of ridiculous code made up in the sixteenth-century. How did you even recognize that?"

"I've been dealing with cults, not just in Gotham, but all over the place," Batman said. "Enochian is popular with them… Barbara, did you get ahold of her yet?"

"I've been calling, but she still hasn't picked up. I've got a bad feeling she's already getting started."

"Keep trying!" Batman shouted, Batgirl and Spoiler double taking as he did.

"Who is, 'she'?" Batgirl asked, looking towards Spoiler, who shrugged.

"Yeah, who is 'she'?"

"Zatanna," Tim confirmed. "She's in town, doing a show down at the Carter Theater. Our fat lipped friend mentioned his boss's next target was 'That Witch before she leaves town'."

"Do you have any idea who their boss is yet?" Oracle asked.

"I don't think that we've seen this one before," Batman replied. "But only time will tell."

"He's a religious Anarky knock off," Tim said, "He might be a pain in the ass, but we've dealt with guys like him before."

"Let's hope you're right," Spoiler muttered. "It's down there Cass," she said, referring to the brightly-lit theater sitting across the street from them.

"I know," Cassandra said, nodding, their eyes both turning towards the playhouse as Batman and Robin landed a block away, making their way towards them.

"They aren't running out yet. They couldn't be attacking yet, but we should get in as quickly as possible."

"If we're just marching in you need to be the one to kick down the door," Spoiler said. "I about broke my foot the last time I tried that." Robin and Batgirl both snickered a little at this as Batman maintained his air of seriousness.

"Okay, listen up, I've been to this theater before," Batman said. "See up there?" He referred to a small observation deck on the third floor, "It's the smoking section, been unused for years now. Let's start there."

So one by one the four ascended the theater, the sound of clapping and laughter growing louder as they approached the door. Batman pulled on the handle to find it locked, but managed to pull it free anyway on his second attempt. "Robin, Spoiler, you two stick to the balconies," he said. "Your colors would attract too much attention."

"And whose fault is _that_?" Tim muttered.

"Batgirl and I will cover the ground level," Batman said. "If any one of them looks suspicious, contact me-"

Batman was not given a chance to finish his thought. As he was speaking there was a sudden roar of gunfire echoing through the auditorium, screaming quickly becoming audible. The dark knight scowled and ran in, yelling, "Nevermind! Just be careful!"

There was a cry of "Dleihs!" And the sound of bullets ricocheting off some kind of metal as the vigilante's three allies ran in after him. From the balcony, beginning to fill with smoke, at least ten individuals wielding rifles were sliding fresh bullets into their guns, a confused woman standing at the center of the stage: garbed in a black jacket and fishnet stockings, one hand holding her wand, another the fresh, bloody wound on her right shoulder.

In a frenzy Batman leapt from the balcony and smashed his right foot into the face of one of the gunmen, putting him to the ground in an instant, grabbing the rifle that had slipped from his hands and threw the bullets aside.

"The false prophet has arrived!" One of the gunman called to the others.

"Let him be!" Another yelled from one of the upper levels. "Seraphim wants him alive! Just focus on the witch-"

Cassandra flung a batarang at the man's cheek, slashing it open and eliciting a cry of pain. With a single shot from her grappling hook she closed the distance between the two balconies and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him to the ground and knocking him unconscious with a well-aimed strike to the throat.

"His protégés however," another of the would-be killers said, raising his gun, "They're free game!" And pulled the trigger.

"Tceorp eht Lrigtab!" Zatanna called from the stage, waving her wand.

The bullets that had assailed the air behind Cassandra stopped in mid-air, as if they had suddenly smashed into an invisible wall, the shells falling to the ground around the rest of his partners.

With another wave of her wand another of the attackers caught fire, screaming and desperetly trying to strip off his burning jacket. Batman delivered a punch to his face as the flames dissipated and the magician stepped down to stand at his side.

"I sent you tickets to this show you know," she said. "You could have been watching this from the audience."

"I'd have to forgo the kevlar," he replied. "Have another trick of yours ready, looks like they're going to start firing again."

From her place on the balcony Batgirl could see Spoiler and Robin finishing off a target each and ducking behind seats as another round of bullets was fired from across the room.

"You're making this too hard," Zatanna chuckled, waving her wand again and commanding, "Maj eht snug!"

Instantly the guns fell silent throughout the room, eliciting cries of confusion from their wielders and allowing the five to quickly knock all of the unconscious in a few, unexpected strikes. The crowd had cleared and the auditorium now stood empty save for the unconscious men and their opponents.

"Peek eht moor teiuq. Kcol eht srood," Zatanna said with a wave of her hands before turning towards Batman. "That should give us some time. Thanks for that Bruce."

"How is your shoulder?" He asked.

"You act like I've never been shot before," she laughed, waving her hand again and saying, "Bacs", the blood quickly coagulating. "It'll be fine. What was all that about?"

"We were investigating a string of murders across Gotham's underworld, usually inside jobs. There was an attack on some atheist a while back, Maxie Zeus last night, and we got one to admit they were coming after you," Tim said.

"What's the connection supposed to be?" Zatanna asked.

Batman was about to reply when there came several pounds at the door to the auditorium, attacks repeated until the entrance finally gave way, four figures slowly filing in. As they came into view Cassandra was sure she wasn't the only one whose stomach churned at the sight of them.

Each of their bright, white costumes was covered all down the sides with feathers, the shape of perfectly contoured bodies decorating the front of the armored vests they wore. The four, of varying heights, each wielded a separate weapon, most frightfully wore freakish, animalistic masks.

The shortest wore one resembling an eagle, starring intently at its prey, short blades in each hand and a pistol at its side. Next was one with a mask like the face of a roaring lion, a razor-tipped glove on one hand and a shotgun in the other. Third was one with a face like an ox and what appeared to be a polearm, his gun, if he was carrying one like the others, not visible from the way he was standing.

The last and tallest one wore a mask of a beautiful, idealized man, gripping a mace with both of his hands and glaring at the five of them.

"And just who are you supposed to be?" Tim asked, reaching behind his cape and extending his bo.

The four spoke in unison, heightening the alarm they had entered with, "We are The Faces of the Cherubim," they chanted. "Escort to The Seraphim, and harbingers of the wrath of God Almighty!"

"I know the harbinger of God's wrath," Batman retorted. "I think you four and your boss are just looking for attention."

"Insolent heretic!" The four recited, raising their weapons, "Surrender yourselves now or face judgment!"

"I've gotten bad reviews on my shows before," Zatanna said as the five took stances of their own. "And you're hardly the first people to come to one just to kill me. But for a change, I've got back up tonight. Bring it!"


	9. Chapter 9

As the five starred down the four, prepared for battle, they all exchanged glances, trying to mentally clarify which opponent was meant for whom. Each had roles they usually filled, but the oddity of the opponents and the presence of Zatanna throwing off their normal routine. Still, it didn't take them more than a moment or two to decide how to split up.

Batman went straight at the giant with the mace, delivering several punches to the pristine man-mask but eliciting no audible response. He took a swing with the weapon, but on Zatanna's command of, "Ssim!" His arm seemed to jerk unnaturally, missing Batman entirely. The Dark Knight continued to pound on his stomach, but by either thickness of armor or sheer resilience, The Man did not respond.

Turning back to the battle, Batgirl made a run at The Ox, whom she considered the most formidable all-around. While not as physically impressive as The Man, The Ox was still of impressive size and added a lot of range with the polearm. She had considered attacking The Man using a clear speed advantage, but a wrong move could easily lead to broken bones. The polearm didn't pose quite the same threat, and she was more accustomed to battling blades. The Ox was quick and it was clear he knew he had the length advantage, Cassandra thinking how useful a sword could be in her situation. She tried to dodge around his swings to his back, but The Ox was quick and efficient, not wasting a single movement and proving more than capable of keeping up with her. She threw a few batarangs which seemed to harmlessly bounce off his armored chest.

Spoiler and Robin both ran at The Lion together, Robin triggering a mechanism within his bo to extend the metal outward into a shield, blocking the first blast from the shotgun. Spoiler dodged to The Lion's back and kicked him at the base of his spine. To her surprise, his reaction time was very quick and she received a slash from one of his claws across her arm for her efforts. After a quick cry of pain, Robin made his way to her side and thrust his staff upwards at The Lion's chin, seeming to be the first attack to elicit any reaction.

Zatanna glared at The Eagle, unimpressed, "I come and visit your city and you keep all the good ones for yourself? Maybe I'll get a crack at some decent bad guys when I'm in Metropolis next week," with that she clasped her hands together and commanded, "Etativel!" And with that The Eagle looked at itself confused as it began to lift off the ground. "What's the matter?" Zatanna asked, "This bird doesn't know how to fly?"

The Eagle pulled the handgun from his belt and delivered another shot into Zatanna's already injured shoulder, breaking her concentration and causing her to drop him to the ground. Blades in hand The Eagle quickly regained its balance and towards her. Too distracted by the wound to conjure a spell, Zatanna instead raised her right foot and kicked The Eagle in its chest, forcing it away as she waved her hands again and commanded, "Tniop!" A sound like an opening knife cut through the air as one her stiletto heel shaping itself into a crude blade and she raised it to try and kick him again, only creating more distance.

The four fights raged for a few minutes, no member of either showing any signs of slowing, a fact that Batman was growing increasingly wary of.

"They aren't showing any signs of damage," he muttered when he found himself back-to-back with Batgirl. "I don't like it, but if we start to crack their armor, try some pressure points."

Batgirl nodded and took a lunge towards The Ox, clutching a batarang in her right hand and clashing with the polearm when she had come close enough. After a quick lock she punched The Ox in the face, grabbed behind his head and smashed it into her knee. The sound didn't resemble the usual sound of an attack, but instead some kind of mechanical crunching sound. With the polearm knocked out of The Ox's hands, she kicked it aside. Raising two fingers, she attempted to strike The Ox's neck. Though it didn't seem to be covered, the strike didn't seem to have any affect. Cassandra double-took at this sight and The Ox smashed his masked face against her own, bringing her to stumble backwards and clutch what she was sure was an open wound.

The Ox jumped right to his feet and punched Batgirl in the face, forcing her back farther, blood from her forehead dripping into her mouth. Cassandra squinted from behind the mask, desperate to regain her focus and better follow his movements. When The Ox rushed at her again, she managed to catch his large fist and twist it to the point of an audible _crack_. To only a faint surprise now, The Ox cracked his hand back into place and clenched his fist, as if challenging her to try it again.

"Broke a wrist!" She called to her comrades. "He broke it back!"

"What the hell is with these guys?" Robin demanded, taking cover from shotgun fire as Spoiler grabbed his staff off the ground and took a few ineffective swings of her own. "They don't show any sign of slowing down!"

"We told you!" The four chanted, "Cherubim! The children of the almighty!" At this Batman noticed something, pressing a hand to his ear between dodging attacks from the mace.

"Oracle, there's no way they're talking in unison. Their words have to be pre-recorded." Cassandra was sure Barbara was saying something on the other side before Batman replied, "See if you can get a signal. It's whoever's in charge of all this I want."

There was a sudden jolt of static from The Man's mask before an entirely different voice, this time only from The Man said, "A time for everything, Dark Knight." Everyone in the room froze for a moment and starred at The Man. The voice was not terribly deep, but still held a certain resonance, and every accent behind every word was articulate. "I think you're rushing answers far too quickly. Our game has only just begun."

"Is this a game to you?" Batman asked. "Good. Speaks volumes to your character, and what I will have to do when I find you." He slowly took his contemplative stance, allowing his cape to cover the front of his body as he starred at The Man.

"Strong words from Gotham's favorite false savior," the voice replied. "Your city has survived much too long… I have simply come to-"

Batman didn't permit him to finish. Before The Man could say anything more he threw a handful of pellets to the ground, instantly filling the surrounding area with smoke and yelling, "Zatanna! Grab The Eagle!"

"Barg Eht Elgae!" Zatanna commanded. A moment later there was a smash against one of the walls, surely The Eagle being forced into place. Gunshots filled the room in search of any target they could get at, but the cloud too dense to successfully land any hits, only a single one grazing Batgirl's left arm. She cringed and grabbed at it, but knew it was not severe and managed to keep herself from responding vocally. When she made it to where the others had gathered, Zatanna quietly recited, "Elffab seye, elffab srae."

While Cassandra was unsure of what the spell had done, it was clear when the smoke finally disappated that, despite behind directly across from the three, they had become invisible, possibly inaudible too. The three exchanged looks with one another and began to scour the auditorium, searching for any sign of their enemies or their comrade.

"I'd call it a good time to take them out," Zatanna whispered, "But all these tricks are starting to wear me out, and it looked like those other three are going to be trouble."

"If they're not going to try and get away with another murder tonight, I'll let them slip for now," Batman said. "Hopefully, something on this one will give us a lead to where their leader is hiding out. First things first though."

There was only a small show of resistence as Batman reached down and pulled the mask from The Eagle's face, taking some kind of headphones and a speaker with it. The man under the mask, however, was a horror to behold. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, starring off into nothing at all, a line of drool spilling down his lips and his skin pale and white as a corpse.

Cassandra, Stephanie and Tim reeled back a bit at the sight, Batman taking a long look at the mask before police sirens were audible outside, the resonant voice on the other side of the headphones commanding, "The police have come, you idiots will have to finish this another day! Return to The Heavens! Don't bother with them. It is not their time. Not yet."

The three glared at one another and made a dart out the back door of the auditorium, Zatanna allowing her spell to dissipate a moment later as the police, led by Commissioner Gordon, made their way in, Gordon himself making his way directly to the Bat-Family.

"What happened here?" He asked, approaching Batman. "I heard something about a magic show getting interrupted and sure enough this place is a wreck."

"A new face in our city I'm afraid," Batman said, shoving the still silent, unmasked Eagle towards the Commissioner. "Apparently calls himself 'The Seraphim'. This one and three others were possibly his heavies."

"This man looks like death," Gordon said, adjusting his glasses a bit.

"He may have been under some kind of influence. Check his blood and this," Batman handed him the headset and speaker, leaning in close and muttering, "And pass it off to Oracle when you're finished with it."

Gordon nodded and accepted the equipment, calling, "Bullock! Montoya! Help me load this guy into the car. We're gonna have a few questions for him when we get back to the station!"

With the situation now in the hands of the GCPD, the five gathered on the roof, those who wished to unmasking briefly to see Zatanna off.

"I can stay here you know," she said. "If this is where you need me Bruce. You deal with the same few thugs over and over again, you get stagnant. Do you really want to try and learn one more criminal from the ground up?"

"We'll be fine," Batman insisted. "This is our city. It's in our care."

"Sorry about your show," Stephanie said.

"Ah don't worry about it kid… You can have Bruce's free ticket if you want it next time by the way. It's apparently impossible to get him out of his costume on any given night." The two laughed a little as Zatanna and Bruce exchanged a shake of hands, the magician seemingly expecting more, and excused herself.

The four were quiet on the rooftop for a few minutes before Cassandra stepped forward and asked, "So… Were you right then? They were… Extremists?"

Stephanie's hands clasped over her mouth, "Oh God… Cassie…"

"I told you I was sorry you had to learn like this," Batman said solemnly.

Cassandra took it in for a moment and looked down without saying anything in response. "I promise I'll talk to you about this all tomorrow when you come over, okay?" Stephanie asked. "I promise you, those are the crazy ones. There are _always_ crazy ones, but they're not like you and me. That is not what it's about-"

"I don't think that's a fair way to put it," Tim said. "Not what it's about? Everyone interprets the book differently Steph. And these are hardly the first-"

"Stop it Tim!" Stephanie cried, quickly growing _very _defensive. "It's a delicate situation!"

"Steph, I'm just saying, I don't think you should be painting her such a black and white picture of-"

"I already know you lapsed Tim. And maybe that's fine for you, but that's not what she wants. _I'm_ the one reading to her-"

"Both of you stop it!" Batman commanded, the two falling silent instantly as he did. "Neither of you are helping."

"It's alright," Cassandra said, exchanging looks with the two. "Stephanie… I don't think I'll be coming tomorrow… I need time."

"Cassie-"

Batman laid a hand on Spoiler's shoulder, sending her the signal to not resist as Cassandra jumped from the roof, grapple in hand and made her way over the city streets for a few blocks, trying to wrap her head around what she had just seen.


	10. Chapter 10

"Cassie? Cassie I know you're in there. Come on, open the door."

Cassandra sighed and pushed herself out of her bed, going to the bedroom door. It had been a week since the fight at the Carter Theater, and she still had spoken very little about it. She hadn't gone to see Stephanie since it happened and refused any calls that Alfred said she had for her. She'd tried to come over twice, but Cassandra had, as politely as possible, asked to be left alone.

This time, however, it was Tim knocking on her door.

"Can I come in for a minute?" He asked, Cassandra nodded and opened the door wider. He made is way to the chair across from her bed, sat down and took a heavy breath. "Steph's pissed at me."

"Alright," Cassandra said.

"Said I shouldn't have responded the way I did back at the theater… Man, I only said one thing… And I wasn't really even thinking-"

"What does 'lapsed' mean?" Cassandra asked.

"What?" Tim asked.

"Stephanie called you, 'lapsed'." Cassandra said.

Tim sighed again, "It means that although I was taught to believe in God, I don't know that I do anymore."

Cassandra looked at him for a moment, taking in how this seemed to affect him before she asked, "Why?"

Tim tapped his fingers against the desk for a few seconds, as if trying to coordinate his thoughts, "There's a lot to say… Guess it all started with my mom." He paused for a moment to see if Cassandra would question him again before he continued, "My mom wasn't even raised a Catholic. She was Jewish. You know what that is?"

"I know the word," Cassandra replied.

"Where's your bible?" Tim asked, Cassandra pointing to the backpack sitting in the corner. Tim unzipped it and produced the book, grabbing the same three-fourths Stephanie had skipped past, "All this," he said. "This is Judaism. It's Christianity too, but it was Judaism first." When Cassandra looked confused, he continued, "It's not that important to explain now, but that's the basics. A common ancestry." He sat back down. "My dad was Catholic. Never made much of a fuss about it, but apparently my grandparents did because Mom had to convert before they were allowed to marry. My mom never seemed to care much at all, as long as she was, 'gaining something instead of losing it,' as my Dad used to say. So even though they both raised me Catholic, Mom still saw to it I go through all the moments a nice Jewish boy went through too." He again considered his own words for a moment before muttering, "I was the only kid in my class to have First Communion and a Bris…"

"I don't know what either of those are," Cassandra said.

"One is pretty basic, the other is horrifying to sit here and describe. Let's move on," Tim replied. "And even after all of that, my mom was the most devoted person to her faith- both sides of her faith- that I ever knew… Dad never cared that much about going to church or saying prayers… Mom had both a Star of David and a rosary inside her bedside table at home. I've got both of them in my room right now."

"But sure enough, one business trip to Haiti and I receive word that I don't have a mother anymore… It was the first time I ever questioned why God had let something happen." Tim stopped and tended briefly to his eyes and took in a quick breath through his nose.

"Tim…" Cassandra began.

"A few years later I hear Black Mask killed the girl I love. Then my dad is assassinated, my step-mom is lost with the rest of Bludhaven, and, as you might remember, Conner… Maybe Steph came back, but it still takes so much to believe in my mom's all loving, all powerful God when all of that came apart around me."

"I am so sorry," Cassandra said after a moment of silence.

"Don't be… Right now, I'm doing what makes sense," Tim said, wiping at his eyes again.

"What… What does Bruce believe?" Cassandra asked.

"He had a very similar upbringing. Christian father, Jewish mother, she must have converted before she died, otherwise she wouldn't be buried like she is… Never told me how they affected his life… I don't know Cass. If you really want my honest answer, I think Bruce has about a hundred plans drawn up for how to take God down if he does exist and gets on his bad side." He chuckled a little, though Cassandra did not react. "Bruce isn't a good person to ask that question about. Ask me about Huntress, Batwoman, Dick… Wait, no, not about Dick. I _still_ don't know what a Roma is."

"Why tell me all this?" Cassandra asked. "Why tell me your story?"

"Because you've only experienced this so many ways," Tim said. "I know you talked with my old monsignor," he stopped and chuckled a little, "If he knew you were my adopted sister he'd probably tell you to shout at me to start coming to church again. Anyway, you've heard from him, you've heard from Steph… And you've heard from some whackjobs in animal masks, because I'm sure Bruce didn't tell you anything."

"He told me it was my decision," Cassandra said.

"Yeah, close enough. My point is Cassie that there isn't just one way to look at the world. None of us thought any different of you before you started looking into all this."

Cassandra gave Tim a long look before she said, "I didn't do it for any of you."

"You were doing it for yourself then?" Tim asked, Cassandra nodding.

"Yes," she said. "What the monsignor and Stephanie taught me… Ideas based on forgiveness and compassion. I liked those a lot."

"But you were already living like that anyway," Tim pointed out. "You're one of the most hopeful, strong-willed people I know. Bruce even called you less willing to take a life than he is."

"Maybe… Maybe I wanted to belong. With others."

"You don't feel that with the rest of us?" Tim asked, already knowing the answer.

"It isn't that," Cassandra said.

"Maybe you don't know why you want to try this at all," Time suggested. "There are a lot of things it could be Cass, and maybe you need to identify your real motivations before you dig any deeper. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for, maybe you won't. Either way, some focus might just do you a lot of good."

When Cassandra didn't say anything, Tim gave her a last sad little smile and stood up to exit the room, nearly to the door when she said, "Tim?" And he turned to look at her. "Maybe I just wanted to be born for another reason." He didn't respond immediately, so she continued, "I was born to be a weapon. Be my father's perfect blade… But God made Adam to be his friend, that's what Stephanie said. And made Mary to have and raise his son. Not as tools, but as loved ones," she was now clutching herself, a hand quickly clearing the wet from her eyes. "Maybe that's what I want."

Tim stepped back in and laid a hand on her back for a second before pulling her into him. "You were never that to us Cass," he said. "Wherever you go with this, whatever happens, you were never that to us. Do you understand?" She sniffled, pulled away from him a little and nodded silently. "You were never that to us. And no matter what you do you're always going to be Cassandra. Do things my way, Steph's way, Bruce's way, anyway. I promise that won't change."

"Thank you," Cassandra managed to say before he pulled her in for another moment.

"I'll let you think about all that," he said, again walking towards the door. "But you should probably get in touch with Steph again soon. I'll tell her you're alright, but she's really been worried about you."

Cassandra nodded as he left and took another long, hard look at the book.

What was it she was really looking for? And how sure could she be that she would find it?

[[Author's notes: Sooo this feels like about as good a time as any to talk about how the relationships in this fic are supposed to deviate a little from established continuity. Namely, that I have always had a real problem with the fact that Bruce said he would adopt Cassandra if she wanted it (and she clearly did) and then nothing ever came of it.

Cassie was never really integrated into the Wayne household, never referenced as Bruce's adopted daughter… They just kinda included that incredibly heartwarming scene and then never did anything with it. So with that in mind, I wanted to try and clean that up a bit and make her position more similar to Dick and Tim's, which, again, was what she wanted and Bruce promised her. It's been my intention to write Bruce as both a mentor and an adopted father to her throughout this thing, and I hope it has seemed evident enough.

Along with that is the relationship between Tim and Cassie. I am fully aware that some people ship the two, and I do not have a problem with that, but by a combination of the fact that I am a _devoted_ Tim and Stephanie fan and always read Tim and Cassandra more as brother and sister than as lovers, that is how I'm trying to represent them here… Also, given the adoption side of things in this story, they are sorta brothers and sisters anyway, and even if they're not blood siblings, I still don't want to touch that.

Last but not least, I suppose it's important to talk about the timeframe on this thing. I'm painting in pretty broad strokes, but ideally is, very simply, set after Stephanie's return in _Robin: Violent Tendencies_ and Batman's "Death" in Final Crisis. Simple as that.


	11. Chapter 11

A few nights Bruce again gathered the three in the cave, wrapping up his conversation via video with Barbara as they entered.

"Keep looking into those symbols," he said. "However disjointed this whole thing seems, there has to be a way to decipher what he's planning next."

"You don't think he's just trying to mislead you?" Oracle asked. "This could all be a convoluted trap."

"No. I heard the way he spoke and have seen how he operates. It's too genuine to be intentional."

"Alright, will do… Do you want me to send some reinforcements your way? I'm sure The Birds would be pretty pissed off to know this is going on."

"You told me yourself that Huntress and Canary have had their hands full as of late. See if you can get ahold of Dick though. All things considered, New York is probably starting to bore him."

"Alright. And I'll keep trying to trace this stupid thing," she said, referring to the headset dismantled from The Eagle. "Wish me luck," and with that the transmission ended.

Bruce glared at his notes before muttering, "We're dealing with an idiot… And that's what I'm afraid of."

"Uhh… You gonna fill us in?" Tim asked.

"Gordon and the police took the man in the eagle mask into custody and tried to get some information out of him. For several hours he was just as stone-faced as when we first got the mask off. When he finally came back down to earth, he was scared and confused."

"And they're sure he wasn't faking it?" Stephanie asked.

"Nearly certain he wasn't. He wasn't calm enough for a polygraph, but his reactions and facial cues were enough for Gordon. Said he didn't know anything about what he was apparently doing, that he hadn't been to church since he was a teenager. There was nothing detectable in his bloodstream, but that doesn't mean he wasn't forcibly coerced into doing this either."

"Did you get anything else out of their boss?"

"That's the most important thing to bring up," Bruce said, tapping a few more buttons on his computer. "While Barbara was trying to trace the signals on the headset back, she received a message. Here's what she managed to record." With a click from the mouse an audio file began to play, beginning in what sounded like the middle of a sentence.

"-Assure you now this is pre-recorded. Don't bother trying to trace this back to our hideaway, Bat, but rest assured, I'm looking very forward to meeting you very, _very_ soon." It was unquestionably the same voice that had addressed them from within the masks.

"Allow me to introduce myself, because I know my heralds' work was unimpressive. I am The Seraphim… Not that I expect one such as yourself to have any idea the weight of that." Already Tim and Stephanie were rolling their eyes. "The Seraphim, Dark Knight, is one of the highest choir of heavenly host, and directly related to my divine ancestors: The Metatron Enoch and the alchemist Edward Kelley."

"It was Enoch, one of God's chosen, who came to behold his face and kingdom and live, only to be rejected by the 'historians' of the future… Save for his direct descendant, Edward Kelley, who translated his works from the language of the angels, but was imprisioned after only discovering a handful of Enoch's many, _many_ theories."

"You have got to be kidding me," Tim muttered.

"Conspiracy theory at its very finest," Stephanie mused.

"Enoch wrote of days of persecution. Days of inquiry. That God's children would one day conquer the lands from sea to sea, a glorious golden age of Earth united under the banner of God almighty…And it would be taken. Not by the Philistines or the Ammonites as in ages past. No, the world would be taken by the opportunists. Yes, Kelley was on the verge of this revelation before he was silenced by one of The Truth's oldest foes, The Catholic Church." Cassandra's eyes grew wide and she had to swallow a little. "Oh they managed to remove their connection to Kelley from history… But you cannot hide reality from ones like myself. Ones who see the truth!"

"Those who would bend the will of God for their own benefit, preaching forgiveness to the abominations, permitting the ilk who were once stoned for their sins to live on. The son of God died for the sins of this world, and yet cesspools such as Gotham and The Vatican continue to exist!"

"And it is through this and my search that I have discovered the truth. It is written Enoch 'Walked with God' and eventually became as a peer. By Kelley's ancestry, it was his destiny to reveal the truth of Enoch's writings. By _my_ ancestry, it is my place as their descendent to bring about both the truth and will of the almighty. Just as The Metatron himself, I was born a man but have ascended, not as a mere angel, but as the highest, The Seraphim… And with that power, I have come to deliver destruction unto your wretched hive. As the fires burned up Sodom and Gomorrah, as the plagues laid waste to Egypt, as Jericho, Ninevah, Gaza, Ekron and countless others were destroyed, as God razed the earth itself in the flood, shall I end your city!"

"I am hardly the first attempt to purge your city, or have you not wondered where all the worms you do battle with came from? God wished to see this city destroy itself. You were the only thing standing against its rebirth… And for that reason, Batman, you and your disciples have made yourselves my enemies."

"Relish your time now, heretic. We have other work to do before we finish you… You have become a symbol. You are not a fire easily extinguished. But rest assured, your time is coming. Very, very soon."

It was with that the recording went silent, Bruce starring at his computer stone-faced for a moment before turning towards the three. "Tim, Stephanie… Maybe even you Cassandra. I assume you understand the implications of that."

"Just that he's completely insane, right?" Tim asked. "I didn't catch half of those references, but like you said, you're afraid because he's an idiot."

"Afraid for the city, not for us," Bruce said. "If he was at least some kind of down to earth Christian occultist, we could rely on that. We could know if he was going to specifically target a certain group, a certain section of the city, something like that… We could possibly even draw on some obscure weakness."

"Heh, like what, painting lamb's blood over every building in Gotham to keep him from bombing them?" Stephanie asked.

"That would be one way I suppose."

"I was joking!"

"It doesn't matter anyway. I've heard some utterly absurd religious babble out of cultists like him, but this has got to be some of the worst… By the _worst _creationistic standards his claims are completely ridiculous, let alone what the best of us would think of him."

"How well do you know what he is saying?" Cassandra asked, surprised.

"Yeah, no offense Bruce, but I never took you for a Bible thumper," Stephanie said.

"I'll remind you my memory is nearly photographic," Bruce said. "And, as I've mentioned, I've dealt with cults before. I already knew a lot of what he was talking about, and between Barbara and I we managed to fill in the rest. The… 'Descended from Enoch' business is the most preposterous part of his rant. Considering Enoch is the ancestor of Noah, reading the text literally would indicate _everyone_ is a descendent of Enoch. Even from his own twisted perspective this 'Seraphim' doesn't make any sense. To say nothing of the fact that Edward Kelley didn't have any biological children or that even his _name_ is incorrect. The singular is just 'Seraph'."

Putting this information together mentally, Cassandra had to smile a little. "He really has no idea what he's talking about," she said.

"Like I told you Cassandra, words and ideals can be twisted in the wrong hands." Bruce said.

"Well, should I take this as confirmation we're going to start reading again?" Stephanie asked, grinning at her. "I know I kinda acted like it was a pain at first… But that's what friends are for, you know?"

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves Stephanie," Bruce said, pushing up from his seat. "Right now we need more information on out what we're dealing with here. Unfortunately, none of the men in Gordon's custody are showing any signs of cracking. I've divided up where we're going to investigate tonight, Oracle and I have done our best to guess just where they're going to strike next. Go get dressed, and let's hope we get some answers."

As the three left their mentor to his work, Cassandra couldn't help but feel relieved by what the recording had proven. The Seraphim wasn't in the least the person she aspired to be and he had apparently gotten a lot wrong. It was those like Stephanie and The Monsignor she aspired to be like, and extremists such as The Seraphim didn't lessen her respect for them at all.

She owed Tim another thank you, and Stephanie another apology.


	12. Chapter 12

September gave way to October. Weeks went by, the investigation of The Seraphim consuming the Bat Family's nights, and Cassandra's continued English and religious education overtaking her days. As horrid as The Seraphim's methods proved, a small part of her felt satisfied in the way it strongly separated the two of them and their convictions to belief. Or what she thought could turn into belief anyway.

Stephanie bought a companion book to read along with The Bible at a second-hand store, so the two stopped going directly in order and instead would jump from book to book, with Stephanie reading from the companion after a given chapter. They had also begun alternating between Stephanie's house and Wayne Manor, so it was easy for Stephanie to spend time with Tim afterwards, the two having seemingly recovered after their argument on the rooftop.

"You know, I was really expecting this to be boring," Stephanie chuckled as she shut the book at the end of one of their readings. "But hey, you don't stick around for thousands of years, cause wars and get a billion plus followers by being a dull read. How are you feeling about it at this point?"

Cassandra thought back on what they had gone over together. Indeed, God had sometimes proved a very frightening figure. The exile from the garden, the flood, the command of Abraham to sacrifice his son.

But she also remembered what had followed that. "All the gods people used to worship asked for sacrifice. _This _God told him it was just a test."

God did indeed seem to be good, sometimes even loving, towards his servants, but she noticed a stark difference between his behavior in the earlier parts of the book as opposed to the latter, to which Stephanie had said, "Remember, they're stories. Stories written a long time ago. It doesn't all cross the culture timeline very well," she looked down at the companion and muttered, "And you better agree with me."

And then there was Jesus. There wasn't any doubt in Cassandra' mind, she liked Jesus. Stephanie went to great lengths to give him praise and stressed every one of his seemingly-impossible feats. He seemed so dedicated to his call to good, but did so without the violence of the world she was living in. Still, she knew the most significant part of his life was apparently his death, and she was left to wonder why it would be so important when they came there.

"I like a lot of it," Cassandra said. "Especially Jesus. I like him best."

"Yeah, he's most people's favorite. I've heard some non-Christians even like him too."

"But I don't know about other parts." Cassandra said. "So much dying. And sometimes God is kind. Others times vengeful. There is so much to understand."

"It's not going to get any easier either."

The two looked up to see Tim standing in the doorway, Stephanie raising her guard. "Careful here Tim…"

He raised his hands, open palmed, "I'm not here to make trouble. I'm just here to share what I know, that's all."

"He's fine," Cassandra said, nodding to Tim a little to invite him in.

"The simple fact is that if you're going to be a Catholic, you're going to be asked to accept a lot of things. Catholics believe some hard, sometimes confusing things, based entirely in faith."

"Just how different is that from any other religion?" Stephanie asked.

"Did you ever have Communion back when you were going to church regularly?" Tim asked.

"Yeah, like once a month, something like that."

"Okay. Now apply that to every week and pretend you're taking it literally. Like, somewhere between your throat and your stomach, the bread becomes skin and the wine becomes blood," Stephanie made a face. "Yeah, and that's just the start… Like I said, there's a lot to take in this way. I don't know if it would have spread quite the way it did if it wasn't for the fact that it was the only Christianity for fifteen-hundred years… That and evangelizing…"

"I like Monsignor Ryan," Cassandra said. "And I like you. And Jesus. I want to be closer to all of you."

The three quietly considered this for what seemed like a long few minutes before Tim chuckled a little and said, "I dunno… It might be a sin, but I could take you to Adoration."

Cassandra looked towards Stephanie, who shrugged, "What's that?'

"Like I said, Catholics think the bread at Communion literally turns into the body of Jesus. So, once in a while, a piece of it is put out for parishioners to observe, pray to, and yes, worship."

"It isn't considered idolatry?" Stephanie asked.

"Not if you believe it's literally him," Tim said. "It's a weird line of thought if you didn't grow up with it… Who am I kidding, I _did_ grow up with it and it's weird."

"But we _do_ live in a world of Supermen, Manbats and green-magicky-ring-using-space cops," Stephanie pointed out. "Heck, we saw someone doing real magic a few weeks back… Maybe _I _should try and convert now, the whole 'bread turning to flesh' thing is starting to sound pretty tame." The two laughed, Cassandra exchanged looks with them both. "Can she go if she hasn't decided if this is a good fit yet? We don't want to break any rules here."

"I'll look into it," Tim said. "If you want to go at all that is."

"What would I do?" Cassandra asked.

"You just go in and face at the bread, talking out whatever's on your mind with God. If you just peek in, it appears like a lot of people sitting around, quietly doing nothing at all. If it's done right, you can hear a pin drop."

"What would it accomplish?" Asked Cassandra.

"If you can be there, like that, and say you've _felt_ God in the room with you, it's a sign Catholicism is a good route to take. If you can't… Maybe you just gotta shoot for something less ancient and mystical."

"How much time would we have?" Stephanie asked.

"Couple weeks. Saint Michael's does it on the first Friday of every month."

"Is that going to be enough time? Seems like a big test to try out so soon."

"She doesn't have to decide right there, maybe it'll just tell you guys if you need to change strategies or something."

Both of them looked towards Cassandra, who contemplated their words for a little longer before saying, "I want to try."

"That'a girl," Tim said. "It might be a little imposing, but nothing worse than Arkham," this time Cassandra laughed a little. "Promise." He turned his attention towards Stephanie, "Have you gotten to the Last Supper yet?"

"Working our way there," Stephanie said.

"You'll wanna do that, the crucifixion and the resurrection," Tim said. "I don't know that Adoration is gonna make a whole lot of sense without them." He stepped forward, hugged Stephanie and kissed her on the cheek, "I'll let you two get back to work. Tell me goodbye before you leave tonight."

"I will," she told him, smiling as he walked away. "Well, he was actually pretty helpful today."

"Yes," Cassandra said. "I hope it works…"

Stephanie gave her a look, "Everything okay?"

"I just like the way he is with you," Cassandra said. "Sometimes I want that too."

"Yeah, but he's your step-brother." Both of them burst out laughing. "No, I know what you mean," Stephanie said. "But I also remember you told me it didn't go that great when you tried with Superboy."

"No," Cassandra sighed, "It didn't."

"One normalizing-topic at a time Cassie," Stephanie said. "Right now you're learning about religion. When it's all over with, I'll teach you how to talk to boys and break every rule about modesty the book has to offer. Hold me to it."

And again they both laughed, "It doesn't really say that, does it?" Cassandra asked. "It doesn't say not to love others, does it?"

"No," Stephanie assured her. "It doesn't say that we shouldn't love. It says we should love each other a lot, no matter what it takes. It's called the good book for a reason."

And in that moment, more than any before, Cassandra was sure. She was on a journey, a journey to find God and his son Jesus. And she felt confident she was headed in the right direction.


	13. Chapter 13

That next Thursday night, Cassandra felt there was something more she must do in preparation for the adoration Tim had described. The four that had been scouring Gotham's streets had become five since the return of Dick Grayson, all of their eyes constantly scouring the streets for any sign of their angelic foes. Still, since delivering the warning, The Seraphim and his forces seemed to have largely gone quiet.

She stood alone atop one of the lower balconies of Saint Michael's Cathedral. It was after 9 PM and dark, but the lights still on within suggested to her someone was still within. And, she hoped, it would be the person she was hoping for. And indeed, after not ten minutes of watching, a few lights went out and the door at the front of the cathedral opened. A tiny white dog rushed outside into the cool air, practically dragging his master behind him and yipping in delight. As the old Monsignor made his way out, she descended from the rooftop, landing in the parking lot on the church's side and then stepping onto the sidewalk, directly in the path of the old man. Thanks to the cover of the night, it still took him a few seconds to realize she was there. Snowball however began to yip and growl a little until she stepped forward, as if he quietly recognized her.

"Goodness!" Monsignor Ryan said. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there."

"It's alright," Batgirl replied.

"Oh! And I'm sorry again, it's so dark I didn't realize it was you." He continued. "I don't see all that well anyway, and in the dark… Well, did you just come out here to see me?"

"Streets are quiet right now," she said. "And there are many of us. I had some time."

"Well we're very happy to see you," he told her, smiling.

Cassandra reached into one of the pouches on her belt and produced the rosary. "I came to see you. Without the mask."

"You did?" He asked. "I suppose I didn't recognize you… And I suppose that was your intent." She nodded. "I hope I was of help to you."

"No one ever talked about God to me," Batgirl said. "You were the first."

Now the Monsignor seemed intrigued. "Really? What about your parents? I mean, I can't see anything of you under the costume, but you surely can't be all that old. Not judging by your voice at least… And that the word _girl_ is in your title."

"I am young," she said. "My parents and I do not associate."

"I am very sorry," he said, somewhat taken aback. She quickly assured him it was alright, the calm in her voice giving him assurance.

"As I said, you were the first. I wanted to thank you for that."

"Have you had a chance to explore since we first spoke?" Monsignor Ryan asked. "Well surely you must have, if you came to thank me."

"I like what you teach," she said. "And I like your teacher," she referred to the rosary.

"He was an extraordinary one, for sure," Monsignor Ryan said with a smile. "Well I am very pleased to hear you say that. I'd love to stick around and say more, but it's getting late. Why don't we-" He stopped and raised a hand to her, signaling she be quiet. Both Batgirl and Monsignor Ryan turned towards the church, an audible _hiss_ coming from the eastern side. He groaned a little, "Not again."

"What is it?" Batgirl asked.

"Oh the neighborhood hooligans. Probably former members of my perish, spraying crude things on the side of the wall… It'd serve them right if I called the police, but unfortunately in a town like ours, they probably aren't a high priority… I'd go back myself, but I'd be no good to the congregation if I was injured again."

"What if _we_ went back there?" Cassandra asked, a mischievous smile on the opposite side of her mask.

The Monsignor chuckled a little before asking, "Are you serious?"

"If you wish."

He paused and thought about it for a moment before saying, "Can you do it my way? They _are_ probably just some kids letting off some steam, I don't want this to turn violent. Hit back only if they hit first, and just enough to disable the situation, alright?"

"Alright," Cassandra agreed. Monsignor Ryan picked up Snowball and nodded to her, the two proceeding down the dark alley adjacent to the church. The _hiss_ grew slightly louder as they made their way down into the black, until the faint glow of a few lantern flashlights lit up the alley, individuals in black rendered visible along with the color red being sprayed up and down the wall.

"Is this really the way you want to treat your father's house?" Monsignor Ryan asked. The ones in black jerked towards The Monsignor, unable to properly see Batgirl clearly as she blended in with the darkness.

"Step off old man," one of them said, resuming his spray painting. "It might be your father's house, but it's just a mural to me."

The Monsignor took a few more steps forward and, dryly, said, "You spelled, 'Satan' wrong."

"What'd he say?" One of the other's asked.

"Nothing," the first said quickly, "Just ignore him. He's not gonna try anything."

"I just said that, unless you're interested in spreading your worship of finely-made bed sheets, you spelled 'Satan' wrong."

"Listen up you damn old-" He had stepped forward to grab The Monsignor by his shirt, Snowball snarling and barking at him, but he didn't get a chance.

"No. _You_ listen," Batgirl intercepted, stepping out of the shadows and shoving him back. The young man was confused at first, but began to swear under his breath when Cassandra came into view. "Grab the stuff guys! He brought onea the batkids!"

"Stop!" The Monsignor commanded. "She isn't here to hurt you, rest assured."

"Screw this!" The third one said, and began to make his way down the alley. A look of frustration now came across Monsignor Ryan's face.

"Devon!" He called, and the runner instantly froze in his tracks. "Devon Wilkinson. So _you've_ been giving me all this trouble!" He then glared at the other two, "And I can guess who you two are, can't I Mister Baker and Mister Henry?"

Both the one who had run and the first with the spray paint sighed in defeat, the other yelling, "You idiots! We didn't take the masks off yet! He can't prove-"

"I don't need to prove anything John," Monsignor Ryan asserted. "I baptized all three of you and you go to a school and a church I preside over. I know who you are. Why in the world are you espousing devil worship on the side of my church? I could have every one of you expelled if this were to get out."

The three exchanged looks with one another in what would be silence if not for Snowball's continued barking.

"It's a sign of free-thinking," the one he called John said, stepping forward. "I got tired of what the church had to say years ago, I'm thinking on my own now."

"You're thinking on your own by painting blasphemies on the side of a church?" The Monsignor asked.

"I don't _worship_ Satan," he said. "I don't even think he exists. But as a character, he had some good ideas. Not takin' any more of God's crap, knowing when to cross the boundaries and how to fight the power-"

"He was evil," Batgirl interrupted. "Violent. A tempter." This much she remembered for sure after Stephanie had recounted Jesus's forty days in the desert to her.

"Shows what you know!" The one the Monsignor had called Devon called. "One more to put the 'dog' in 'dogma' I guess!"

Cassandra wasn't sure exactly how to respond to the remark, and didn't get a chance before John continued, "You know what I got out of the last decade in Catholic school? The exact way I _don't_ want to live the rest of my life!"

"If that's true then so be it," The Monsignor said, unamused. "But I'd like to hope you'd have enough belief in this new conviction of yours to not spray it on the side of my church."

He was notably silenced by this for a moment before an idea seemed to come of him and he shouted, "Don't pretend like Christians don't evangelize! Don't pretend like you're not cramming it down everyone's throat a million times worse than a couple of kids with spray paint!"

"The church itself has awoken to some of the harshness of our old methods," Ryan said, somewhat sadly. "I'm not interested in shouting at you John. I wish you would just let me have a conversation with you."

"Whatever. I've heard what you have to say Sunday after Sunday my whole life. I'm not takin' any more grief about my murals from one of the IRA's old lapdogs, let's go boys!"

Batgirl had to double-take at the IRA comment, trying to recall where she had heard that term before as John and Devon made a run down the alley, only the one he had called "Mr. Henry" remaining, as if petrified in fear.

"Are you just going to stand their Joel?" The Monsignor asked. "She's not going to chase you. Or either of them. In fact I should probably let her get back to her work here soon-"

Seemingly from nowhere young man who had remained began to sniffle and choke. He pulled off his mask and wiped at his eyes before, with some anguish, he said, "I'm sorry… God, I'm so sorry!"

Batgirl and Monsignor Ryan exchanged looks before both took a few steps forward. "What are you sorry for Joel?" Ryan asked sternly.

"I… I don't know what I was doing out here," he said. "I mean… I mean no, no I'm not sure what I think about everything… I don't know that I really think there's a god out there… I got talking to those two and I thought I knew what I was getting into but…" He stopped and struggled to catch his breath, "I don't want to let you down, Father… Whatever is real and what isn't, I'd _never_ want to let you down… Not after what you taught me. God, I'm so sorry!"

The Monsignor took a few steps forward and laid a hand on Joel's shoulder, which seemed to immediately quiet him. "Joel… Shh… Joel. It's late. Why don't you go home? We can talk about this another time."

"Father I-"

"I will listen to you," he assured. "I will answer your questions… I already locked the doors, but I can unlock them again, if you would like."

Joel wiped at his eyes and nose, still struggling for breath. "You… Will you tell anyone?"

"Not if you don't give me a reason," he said solemnly. "And you help me clean this up on Saturday," he said, referring to the mess of red spray paint on the wall. Again, Joel broke down and thanked him, pleading to talk in the church.

"I suppose I should send you on your way," The Monsignor said, turning to Batgirl. "I know I'd like my privacy if I was in this situation."

"What about the other two?" She asked.

"Leave them be. I'll try and follow up on them later… Free will, my girl, it's a scary thing in the wrong hands. Beautiful, but very frightening."

"What is the IRA?" Cassandra asked him.

"Something I was never a part of," Monsignor Ryan said firmly. "I have made many mistakes, some with my fellow Irish brothers and sisters, but I don't associate with those madmen… I'm sorry, but right now," he motioned to Joel to head back towards the church, "We have much to talk about. Thank you again."

Cassandra watched as The Monsignor, his student and the dog made their way back into the church. She knew she should resume her work patrolling the streets, but found some kind of quiet satisfaction building inside her.

He hadn't thrown a single punch, hadn't needed to fight them off. Even if two had gone running away, one had apologized for his actions simply after hearing Monsignor Ryan's words. While she believed it the way it was told in the stories Jesus told, she was sure experience had taught her such tactics could never work in Gotham.

Maybe some of the city's newest delinquents just had to be offered that message a little more often.


	14. Chapter 14

When The Seraphim's forces again revealed themselves, it was not in any great, coordinated attack as they had attempted on The Penguin, Zeus or Zatanna. In fact, discovering them was entirely unintentional.

"They just caught me walking out!" Dick was yelling over gunfire, far too calm for all the rounds that could be heard being fired. "Don't even know what I did to piss em' off! I could handle it," And then he grew quieter, "But it's _supposed_ to be my night off. I don't have my suit on me."

"Are you carrying anything to keep yourself protected?" Batman asked over the team's radio.

"Couple of darts, smoke pellet… But if they aren't able to fire at me they may well start focusing on somebody else. For whatever reason, they're stuck on me-"

"Shoulda _never_ come back to Gotham rich boy!" A thug could be heard yelling over his fire. "Bastard son of the bastard billionaire!"

"Least they don't know about the _actual_ bastard son," Dick retorted. "I'm at the corner of eighth and Grand. Who is close enough to give me a hand?"

"I can hear the shots from here," Cassandra said. "I am on my way."

"Thanks Cass," Dick said. There was a brief ceasefire before another barrage of bullets, yells and grunts, followed by the sound of something smashing into the concrete and Dick yelling, "Any of the rest of you want to try that?"

Cassandra bounded across rooftops towards the sound of the gunfire and flashes in the darkness. Dick would be fine, she was already sure of it. It would be more a matter of not permitting the gunmen to escape before they could learn something more of their plans.

"Just checked," Dick added, "He's got one of those tattoos. It's definitely them."

With that she began to jump between roofs even faster, until she could easily look down on six armed men shouting at one another, Dick leaned against the back-side of a building with an unconscious body at his side.

"Get on the roof!" One gunman commanded. "Should be a clear shot!" Cassandra couldn't help but smile to herself as one of his lackeys made his way to a construction ladder on the building she was standing atop. She dodged behind a large vent, out of direct view of the man as he made a run for a clear shot at her ally.

"You might wanna hurry," Dick said, "Looks like they're spreading out."

"On it," Cassandra assured, stepping out from her hiding place.

The gunman had heard her say it, but by then it was already too late. Cassandra closed the distance in a single bound, grabbing both of his arms, pulling backwards and crashing a foot into his back. He screamed in pain, quickly attracting the attention of his companions, some of whom opened fire, others yelling, "No! Wayne's kid is priority!"

With that there was an explosion of smoke throughout the alleyway, followed by several fits of coughing and demands as to where Grayson could have gotten a thing like that, while others argued that it was surely Batgirl who had thrown it and quickly made their retreat. Cassandra grabbed the gun of the man she had wounded to keep it out of his hands and quickly searched his person for any more ammunition, finding a whole belt of it wrapped around his waist. When he groaned a little she swiftly punched him in the face, seemingly knocking him unconscious and allowing her to descend to where Dick was tending to the one whom he had knocked out, propping him up against the dirty, brick wall of the building and shaking him in an attempt to wake him up. Batgirl brought a hand to the communicator in her ear, saying, "We got two. Others are running down Grand."

"On it," Batman said, leaving the two to deal with Dick's slowly awakening victim.

"Glad you decided to join us again," Dick muttered. "My friend and I have a few questions for you."

"Screw you," the man said, spraying a mouthful of spit on Dick's face. Unamused, Dick pulled him back from the building and proceeded to smash him into it again.

"I'm the _good_ cop buddy." Dick said. "My friend here? This isn't the first time we've met. I can assure you, she knows every pressure point in your body." He leaned closer, channeling his mentor as best he could, "She could break you."

Again the captured gunman spat towards Dick as several rounds of gunfire took over the air a few blocks away, likely Batman descending on his cohorts.

"Let me ask you something," Dick began again. "What'd your teacher ever tell you about Romani?"

Dick's victim gave him a look of confusion for a moment before he began to pound on his arms, struggling to get free. "Devil-worker! Curse-weaver! Gypsy son of a bitch!"

Dick made some room between the two of them before punching him directly between the eyes, the man letting out a cry of pain. "Don't talk about my mother like that!" He paused, allowing the man to take in the statement before following with, "I think a curse on her earns you a curse on yourself." Batgirl watched him carefully as he said this, a small smile coming across his face and sounding almost as if he was snickering. He thrust the criminal towards Batgirl, yelling, "Catch!" And she quickly got ahold of him, clasping both of his hands behind his back.

The wily smile still on his face, Dick reached into his pocket and produced what appeared to be a circular piece of metal, almost like a coin, with a square hole through the middle. "And speaking of my mom, you might be interested in knowing that this was hers too." He brought the coin closer to the criminal. "Know what this is smart guy? It wards off evil spirits… At least when I'm holding it."

"Fat lotta good it's doing you," the man sneered.

"Well see, that's the thing," Dick continued. "It'll protect any good Roma… But somebody like you?" He took a step closer still, "It has just the opposite effect."

"I don't believe in your garbage!"

"That's the great thing isn't it?" Dick said. "God, demons, magic, it's all real whether you believe it or not, isn't it?"

"_Mine_ are real!" He was now shouting angrily, struggling harder and harder to break Cassandra's grip. "The crap your thieving ancestors made up is just that! Crap!"

"Well then," Dick said, his grin now almost malicious. "Let's give it a try shall we? If you're right, you've got nothing to lose," he pressed the coin to the man's chest and looked him in the eyes, "If I'm right, they're about to flock to you like moths to an open flame."

Cassandra was still unsure of just what Dick was trying to do, but knew it was proving effective, as the man was now shuddering in horror and soon began to scream at him to pull it off.

"Well would you look at that?" Dick said. "Are they crowding around you? Can you feel them?"

"No!" He insisted, terrified. "Take your cursed relic away!"

"You know what can help ward them off?" Dick asked. "Owning your sins. Confessing."

"I have nothing to confess!"

"The spirits seem to think otherwise!"

As Batgirl kept him locked firmly in place, the man's eyes darted to and fro, his body now shaking, sweat dripping down his brow and his mouth agape. He and Dick held their positions for nearly a minute before he finally screamed.

"We only act as you taught him My Lord! Just like you taught The First King's father! Please… Protect me! Don't let the heathen steal my spirit!"

Both of them went silent for a moment before Dick turned the coin in his hand and said, "I grabbed this out of a take-a-penny cup at the convenient store. So I could switch it with an actual coin." And with that he again delivered a punch to his face, Batgirl gently setting him down after he seemed to have again fallen into unconsciousness. "And they call _my_ people superstitious."

"What was all that?" Batgirl asked as the alley was finally left peaceful again. Before Dick could answer there was a _whoosh_ of black and Batman now stood between the two of them.

"Quite an impressive trick you just pulled," he complimented.

"I learned from the best. My fathers," Dick said. "The one who taught me how to use superstition and fear of the unknown to get what I want… And the one who dressed up like a bat at night."

"He better actually be unconscious," Batman said curtly.

"Aw come on, crack a smile," Dick replied. "That was a great bait and switch comparison!"

"I am impressed you managed to make him crack though… Gotham's police have been working at these men for weeks and couldn't get anything out of them. Your tactic really seemed to get under his skin."

"Superstitious and cowardly lot, that's what you always said, right?" Dick asked.

"Usually not like this though," Batman said. "But it might be worth looking into… You made up every word about that coin."

"Of course I did. But I got some good karma by switching this thing out for a real coin." Batman glared at him, unamused. "It's good stuff. Has probably saved you some bullet wounds too."

"Just don't rely on protection you don't know is going to be there." He pressed a hand to his cowl. "Oracle, did you record what he said before he was knocked unconscious?"

"_We only act as you taught him my lord, just like you taught The First King's father_," Oracle recited back over the connection into both Batman and Batgirl's ears. "What's that supposed to mean? A reference to David?"

"Saul was king before David was," Batman replied. "We'll talk about it later. Hopefully we'll finally have a chance to get ahead of them." He turned towards Cassandra, "Good work there." And then towards Dick, "If you're staying out, you should probably change."

"I've had enough excitement for one night," Dick said. "I'll see you both back at home."

"I just wish we knew more about them," Batman said bitterly. "His most loyal, seemingly unbreakable servants are clearly at the bottom of the food-chain, while his closest allies don't even seem to be serving him willingly."

"It's a pretty brilliant advantage if you think about it," Dick said. "When your _worst_ security still can't be broken and your higher-ups don't even have memories of what you do to them? Sounds like something Jason once mentioned-"

"Hopefully it won't get that bad," Batman interrupted. "I dealt with Blackfire once. Unlike nearly every other lowlife in this city, once seems to have been enough." With that he drew his grapple and took again to the rooftops, leaving Cassandra and Dick alone in the alleyway.

"I wanted to ask something." Cassandra began.

"I've been talking to Tim. I know you've been studying a lot about belief and faith."

"He said he didn't know how to describe you. I'm curious." Cassandra said.

"I'm a lot of things," Dick said. "_All_ Roma are a lot of things. Everyone is a lot of things Cassie… Except maybe guys like this," he said, pointing his foot at the unconscious gunman. "He could stand to be a few more things… Ask me another time Cass. It's my night off and my ears are ringing."

Cassandra nodded to him, granting Dick permission to return to the streets. She looked down on the man they had knocked out, one of the strange, Enochian symbols tattooed on his right hand. The way he had reacted when Dick simply held up a trinket and the things he had shouted. Just how far gone were men like him? What did it take to bring him there?

And if this was the way the servants behaved, how far into the abyss must their master have sunken?


	15. Chapter 15

It had been some time since Wayne Manor had been so full of anyone outside of the rare gala Bruce hosted. With Dick staying over again, Stephanie's regular trips ins and outs and now Barbara joining Bruce to look over their collected information, the struggle against Between the rise of The Seraphim and Cassandra's own journey of faith, the Bat family saw itself reuniting.

Every day for a week Barbara and Bruce sat in the library, typing and searching through websites and gleaning different Bibles taken from its shelves, searching constantly for some kind of clue to what the tattooed man's words had meant. The library itself was sprawling and grand, illuminated by lines of old chandeliers who had been updated from candles to flame-like bulbs and a bright red carpeting covering the floor. It was rare that anyone but Alfred pulled books from the shelves, but the man's cryptic words had forced the quiet library into a new meeting place.

Once in a while Cassandra would walk in, just observe them at one of the large oak tables, wondering if there was anything she could offer. Alfred would bring in refreshments and sometimes retrieve Cassandra for her studies, sometimes Dick or Tim would walk by, usually with another suggestion that would lead to yet another dead end, only further frustrating the two.

"Saul was the first king of the Jews," Bruce muttered for what could now have been the thousandth time one afternoon, rubbing his forehead. "And his father's name was Kish… That's literally almost all that's out there. He was a Benjamite but I highly doubt that means anything either."

"But maybe they meant David because they see him as the first _real_ king," Barbara suggested. "But even then, his father was just a shepherd, and I don't have any idea what that would have to do with anything."

"What about Jesus?" Dick asked. "He's God incarnate, meaning he's old as time itself. Hard to be much more "first king" than that."

"He had two fathers," Bruce remarked. "And one of them wouldn't be referred to as a separate entity in an appeal. The other was a carpenter… I'm not ruling it out, but unless they intend to give up this crusade and hide out in Egypt, I can't imagine what he could be referencing."

"_What he could be referencing?"_ Barbara asked, her frustrations now boiling over. "Bruce, I think you're giving these psychopaths too much credit. You know what the difference is between that guy off the street and someone like The Riddler is?"

"Easy there Babs," Dick said.

"No, I mean it. The Riddler drops hints that have clear answers. Maybe you need to twist the Rubik's Cube a little to get there, but the answer is almost always pretty clean at the end of the day. A riddle that you could ask a normal person if it wasn't a life threatening situation. _This_," she said, a finger resting directly on The Bible in front of her. "Is enough to span over half the population of the planet if you count the parts Islam follows and there are literally _thousands_ of subsections of Christianity arguing over what it even means. There isn't a clear answer to this Bruce, that's why we haven't found it yet and it's why I haven't been to church since before I could use my freaking legs!"

Everyone went quiet as Cassandra had been since she walked in, contemplating Barbara's words and embittered reply before Dick remarked, "Maybe she's right Bruce… We're not even dealing with a normal religious extremist here. We're dealing with a guy who named himself after some angel nobody who didn't watch _Dogma_ has ever heard of, he thinks he's descended from a man who went to Heaven and came back from it and an English alchemist who claimed he knew the language of the angels… Maybe we just need to wait for him to do this and respond then."

"We finally have a lead on him," Bruce said wryly. "He's spilled too much blood on my streets to get away with it any longer. I'm going to find out what he meant, and I'm going to track him down."

The four were silent again before Cassandra finally spoke up, thinking back on her studies with Stephanie over the last few weeks. "It could be deception. Like Samson and Delilah."

She was thinking back on Stephanie's reading of that story and the way she had stopped to groan. "Come on, she tried to sell you out twice now… I know I can't change the story, but I just can't believe he actually tells her about his stupid hair."

"But even then, all that tells us is that he's willing to lie. And that's even less helpful," Bruce pointed out.

"Maybe he just didn't want to tell the truth to a dirty gypsy," Dick said, rolling his eyes.

"Or be beaten by a woman. Like… Um…" Cassandra stopped, trying to recall the way the name was pronounced, everyone giving her a look.

"Who are you talking about Cassie?" Barbara asked.

"Stephanie didn't know how to pronounce it. Was very disgusted. Ab… Abimil…" She sighed. "I don't remember."

"Well, it probably isn't important," Dick sighed. "What's bigger right now is figuring out what he could have been referencing with that prayer of his."

"I'll look it up," Barbara said. "We're not getting anything else done any faster. What was his name?"

"Ab… Imil… Eck?" She said, surprised herself she had remembered, Stephanie's consistent bitter remarks about sexism all that made him stick out in her mind.

They hadn't read his whole life story, it was just suggested they read a little of it while going over the Judges of Israel, the two skipping ahead to his part at the suggestion of Stephanie's companion book.

"_Abimalech_?" Barbara asked, Cassandra nodding. "Says here… Wait a sec…" She adjusted her glasses a little and leaned in closer to her laptop.

"What is it Babs?" Dick asked.

"His name means… _My father is the king_."

Bruce gave a sharp look in her direction before rising from his chair and standing just behind her as she read. "Abimalech, son of the judge Gideon… Killed his seventy brothers…" He now froze for a moment, trying to take in the words before she continued, "Crowned King of Israel by men of Shechem and the house of Millo."

"Son of Gideon? Than that was _long_ before David and Saul," Bruce said. "Not to mention the scale of Gideon's own military accomplishments… It now makes too much sense."

"But why didn't that ever come up? We've been searching all over the place," Barbara protested.

"Abimalech was never a _true_ king, but he was the first person to have something close to resembling the title… If we're right than this can only mean The Seraphim means to borrow Gideon's battle strategy."

"His battle strategy?" Dick asked. "Sorry, but you're going to have to fill me in on that one. Not many Sunday schools travel in a circus caravan."

"Sneak in, cause a horrible din, and watch the enemy destroy itself in a fit of mad confusion," Bruce said, gritting his teeth a little.

"They couldn't possibly be planning to come here, could they?" Barbara asked. "Judging by what they said to Dick they hate you, but they don't know our identities or anything."

"I'm sure they don't," Bruce said. "But it's not us I'm worried about… The story goes that they slipped into the enemy camp, just a few at a time, not many in total… The place where the enemy was comfortable, where a sneak-attack would devastate them most." They all waiting in anxiousness for him to continue when he finally said, "We need to start taking shifts at Arkham and Blackgate. Those are going to be his targets. That's where he's going to smash open his clay pots and scream like he's waking the dead, hoping madmen will run about and slaughter one another. He won't even have to get his hands dirty."

The words were chilling as another piece of The Seraphim's puzzle finally snapped into place. In silence the words were contemplated for several minutes before a, "Hey there!" From Stephanie, led in by Alfred, finally broke them. She smiled towards both Dick and Barbara, but took notice of their unease as she made her way to Cassandra. "Are you busy right now? We can get started if you're not… Is everyone okay?"

"Steph, I don't know what you're teaching her, but keep at it," Dick said. "I think your little Bible study may have just helped us find out what The Seraphim's doing next."

Stephanie laughed a little and gave him a big smile, "Thanks Dick. Can I borrow her then?"

"Go ahead," Bruce said. "But I want you both in costume when the sun goes down. If we _have_ made a breakthrough, we're about to start covering more ground."

"Will do," Stephanie said, motioning to Cassandra as the two stepped out of the library.

"Thank you," Cassandra said.

"What, was it getting grating in there listening for the hundredth time?" Stephanie asked.

"No. Thank you for teaching me. It helped them. A lot."

"Well, always happy to help." She said with a grin.

"I like your smile. Always have," Cassandra said, showing a little one of her own.

"Yeah? And I like yours. Seems like I've been seeing it a little more from you lately too. Maybe all this soul-searching really is doing you some good."

Cassandra opened the door to her room and the two sat, once again at her desk as Stephanie proceeded to Cassandra's bible, turning to a page increasingly close to the back and sighing a little. "We're going to do the most important reading in here next week so you can go to that thing with Tim… I'm going to tell you right now, it's not going to be easy. You gotta talk to me if you're really troubled, okay? You might have a lot of questions."

"Alright," Cassandra said, sitting down. "Is that when he dies? I will finally know why?" It only struck her as she was saying it how terrible that sounded, especially after what they had already read.

"Yeah. The death, and, more importantly, the resurrection… But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it… You ready?" As Cassandra nodded, she began to read, "_Jesus Comes to Jerusalem as King_."


	16. Chapter 16

For days after the exchange in the Wayne Library, Bruce and Dick began to alternate watches over Arkham and Blackgate with the command that anyone left on the streets contact them should anything become too dangerous. It wasn't an eventful watch, but Batman wanted to be able to repel an attack by The Seraphim as soon as possible.

Tim, Stephanie and Cassandra stuck together for most of the wait. Trouble was minimal, a bank robbery by Two-Face averted proving the most interesting moment they experienced, and even that had just proved typical.

"Maybe we didn't interpret it right," Dick suggested. "It was a good idea, but I've been back and forth between the nuthouse and the prison all week and we still haven't seen a thing yet."

"I'm not taking my eyes off of them, not yet," Bruce said. "Not yet."

The month of October was quickly coming to an end. Cassandra knew her most important lesson with Stephanie was quickly approaching, she knew there was something else she wanted to address first. It began with a knock at Tim's door as it sat open and he laid back on his bed, flipping through some case-file's from Bruce. "Tim?"

He jumped a little before looking towards her, "Sorry, still not used to seeing you there… Yeah, what's up?"

"Are we still going to the thing you mentioned? The Adoring?"

"The Adoration? Yeah, if you still want to go." He said.

"What will we do again?" She asked.

"You just sit down, or take a knee, either way, and pray about what's on your mind towards the Host as if it's God there… Because when you're part of this faith, he _is_."

"Easy for you. But I have never prayed," Cassandra pointed out. "Shouldn't I know before I go?"

Tim was quiet for a moment, looking back and forth between her and the files he was going over before remarking, "Yeah. I suppose you should." He pushed up from his bed and snatched up two of his pillows, laying both of them on the ground next to his bed. "And now is as good a time as any. Come on in and follow my lead." Cassandra entered and mimicked Tim as he set his knees onto the pillows and straightened himself from the knees up. "This is your basic kneel. When you go you'll probably do it at least a little, but you don't have to do it much." Next he clasped his hands together, fingers overlapping one another. "And this is your cross-hand. You usually take it when you're in prayer."

"Why?" Cassandra asked.

"I knew you were going to ask that. I have no idea," Tim said. "Anyway, some people look down and close their eyes when they do it. I _do_ know that one, it helps keep you from looking around and being distracted. After that… Well you just kinda say what you need to say. In your mind."

"It's like meditating," Cassandra observed.

"In a lot of ways, yes. But when you meditate you're usually looking to be completely alone with yourself. Here, it's trying to be completely alone with God."

Trying to utilize what Tim had taught her, Cassandra leaned forward, resting her elbows on the bed with her fingers folded together and began to think on what he had told her to do. She shut her eyes, trying to forget that Tim was there at all, and focused on the task at hand. But she still wasn't sure how to overcome the barrier of not knowing how, or even what to speak in this way.

_… God? Are you there? _

_I… I've only really been learning about you these last few weeks… But I feel like I've been looking for you forever._

_Someone like you at least… Without knowing you were there._

_God… If Stephanie and Monsignor Ryan are right, than you created me. And you love me. You created me because, even before I was born, you loved me._

_Please God, please be there. Please let that be true… My mother didn't have me because she loved me. My father didn't raise me because he loved me… Even Bruce, who I know does love me, can't shake what I've saw… What I've done…_

"Cassie? Cass, are you okay?"

Cassandra opened her eyes and looked towards Tim, only then realizing they were wet with tears. "You alright? I uh… I think you might be trying a little too hard there."

She quickly wiped her eyes, "I think about these things every day. But I never talk about them."

"What is it you're talking about… I mean, if you want to tell me," he added quickly.

"My childhood… My father… That I'm still not used to being loved… He didn't say anything back."

"He never does. Not with words at least." Tim said. Cassandra looked surprised and upset by this statement.

"Then what is the point?" She asked. "Why talk if not to be talked back to?"

"Like I said, it isn't with words," Tim said.

"He spoke to Moses and Elijah. Why won't he speak to me?"

Tim looked down, bothered that he hadn't thought to address this before. "He… I don't know. God doesn't like words. He likes actions, and feelings. That's what my mom told me."

"So I just talk?" She asked, still saddened. "This… Isn't what I was expecting. How do I know I am heard?"

"If you believe in God, you believe you're being heard. At least when it's this God we're talking about." The look of confusion on Cassandra's face only made him want to curse himself for not better explaining this any sooner. "I know you must be upset by that."

"I thought… I thought that at some point I would know for sure. So no one, not even Monsignor Ryan, _really_ knows for sure?"

Tim thought about this hard for a minute, trying to come up with an answer swiftly enough that she wouldn't question his ability to teach her, but would also make sense with everything else she had been through.

"If you ask any… Well, _almost_ any Christian out there to prove what they believe, they'll give you some kind of vague answer either along the lines of 'The universe had to come from somewhere', 'The world is too beautiful to be an accident', or 'I feel he answers me when I pray', though again with that last one, the answers aren't with words."

She appeared perhaps a little better, but still very confused and unsure of what he was saying. "Do you want to know what Father Ryan was doing before he became a priest and later a Monsignor?" Tim asked.

"I overheard something, but he denied it… Something about the IRA? I don't know what that is." She replied.

"Well then yeah, he had a right to deny it. That's just not true," Tim said. "Before he joined the priesthood, Father Ryan was a member of the Irish Mob." If Cassandra was surprised before, now she was dumbstruck.

"You might want to get off your knees and sit down. It's kind of a long story." She obeyed quickly. "I don't know how much of it is true and how much isn't, particularly in the crime department, but Father Ryan used to talk about it with us back in my confirmation class. Our parents had to sign permission slips and everything, but he didn't want to sugar-coat too much of it. He wanted us to know just what kind of man he was before he found his true calling."

"He was like the mob-men out on the streets?" Cassandra asked.

"Just like them. You haven't seen much of the Irish mob around Gotham, Falcone wiped a lot of them out before Batman even started patrolling the streets and he handled most of the rest… They're bad people Cass, and I really don't think you needed me to tell you that."

"Father Ryan was born in Star City and was always going to be a priest… His father lost a lot of their money screwing up in the drug trade, owed his boss way more than he could ever afford to pay. So they struck a deal."

"Stephanie probably hasn't talked about this with you, but Catholics believe that priests have a _very_ strong connection to God, and that if you confess your sins to them, God will act through the priest and forgive your sins… Naturally, a gang of Catholic-descended mobsters had a lot of reasons to be worried about their souls, so, according to Father Ryan, every few decades they'd raise one of their own to be a priest, so they could easily wash away their sins and escape fear of divine retribution."

"That's horrible," Cassandra said, disgusted.

"Yeah? You know why a lot of people don't trust Catholics? They think they can just make trouble whenever they want and have it all taken away in a single conversation with their priest… And, as I think this demonstrates, plenty of Catholics themselves believe that too. I can tell you Cass, it isn't about owning your sin, it's about owning it and making sure you _don't_ do it again."

"So Father Ryan was set up to be the new priest from day one. His parent's didn't really care, he had five other brothers anyway. Their family name would go on without any real trouble, and it was a small price to pay to take the debt away. Sometimes he'd go out with his brothers on their minor jobs, but was never allowed to do anything heavy, they just didn't want to lose him. He didn't tell us exactly what they were doing, obviously, but I think he was sure we knew enough about the mob and its trappings that we could fill in the blanks ourselves."

"About halfway through seminary… Uh, that's priesthood school so you know, it really struck him that his family was trying to use him for evil. In seminary, he told us he experienced firsthand the way organized crime had ripped people and families apart. He saw the homeless people his family had extorted, the competition they were killing… And the thought that he was simply going to forgive those kind of people so they could turn around and do it again clashed horribly with everything he had ever known about God and the son he had sent to redeem humanity."

"Raised to be an evil tool… And then used that for good?"

"Sounds a lot like you when you put it that way, doesn't it?" Tim asked with a little smile. "Through it all, he told us, it was never a question of whether or not God was real. It was a question of if he had been looking at God the right way. So, still in seminary, still trying to make sense of the destiny his parents had made for him, he decided to look for God on his own terms. Eventually, that meant secretly leaving Star City altogether and hiding out in Gotham where, like I said, between Falcone and Batman, the Irish Mob had nearly disappeared… A few years later, they just about disappeared in Star City too." Tim chuckled, "I've never known how he got the honor of being a Monsignor, but I've always suspected he ended up helping to put a lot of those men behind bars and strived to help undo their damage."

"I already thought he was a brave man," Cassandra said. "This just says more."

"There was never a choice for him about becoming a priest. But he did choose what kind of priest he became. And that was something between him and God. Maybe there was never a word-to-word conversation, but there were feelings and there was a connection. That's what he told us."

After his story the two sat again in silence, pondering the gravity of The Monsignor's tale and decisions before Cassandra said, "You still believe in God, don't you Tim?"

"I've tried my best to be ambivalent, but it just isn't for me," he sighed. "Yeah, I still believe in God. Jesus too… I can't go back to the way I used to be. I can't go back to thinking I really _understood_ why God does what he does, let happen what he lets happen and all that stuff. But I really can't deny that I feel better about the world thinking somebody's out there watching over me… And God's about all I have left of my mom. God, religion, Catholicism, it doesn't always make sense to me… But it usually does, so I better stick to it… Has _any_ of this made sense to you? We really got off track. Do you feel any better?"

"Yes," she said. "I want to try again… But you have work to do. I'll try alone."

"You come back if you need me then," Tim said, picking up his files again. "Hang in there Cassie. Sooner or later it'll make sense, one way or another. I promise."

"Thank you," she said, checking her eyes to make sure she wasn't still crying without realizing it and nodding to him, allowing herself to go back to her bedroom and try again.


	17. Chapter 17

"You ready for this? It's gonna be heavy and there is going to be a lot of it. You stop me if you need me to stop, but you gotta trust me if I say it's going to come up later, alright?"

"I will," Cassandra assured Stephanie. "Please proceed."

Stephanie took a deep breath and a long sigh, "_The Passion Narrative_, according to Luke… _Chapter Twenty-Two: The Conspiracy Against Jesus_."

Stephanie had read about the nature of the Four Gospels in the companion, and though all the old Sunday school classes she had attended had long since run together, she knew she would have to be careful with Cassandra. Luke was suggested to be the softest of the four narratives, focused the most on Christ's kindness and proclamation of the good news. Exactly how much of a difference that would make in The Passion she was not sure, but she wanted to do anything in her power to make her friend comfortable.

Cassandra listened to her quietly, taking fearful mental note of "_Then Satan entered into Judas, the one surnamed Iscariot_." Already she felt nervous. She had known from the beginning how much had depended on the death of this glorious man, but was unsure she could have prepared herself for it actually happening.

Stephanie continued into _The Last Supper_. "Okay, according to Tim and the companion book, this part is _really_ important… _Then he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body, which will be given up for you; do this in memory of me.' And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, 'This is my blood, which will be shed for you.'_ That's what Tim wanted me to be sure to hit." She skimmed the page of the companion. "And just like he said before, Catholics take that literally. The bread and wine uh… Transfigures? Okay… Transfigures into flesh and blood. And as a result, you accept the same thing his apostles did… I'm sorry but saying that aloud is still the weirdest thing to me."

"You said you did it," Cassandra pointed out.

"Yeah, but at my church it was figurative. The focus wasn't on, _This is my body_, the focus was on, _Do this in memory of me_. It was remembering this event, not trying to reenact it… Oh well. I'll let you figure out what you think of that transfiguration business. Let's keep going."

She went on to detail how Jesus revealed the betrayal by Judas Iscariot, and by the time he would have to endure his burden, even his most loyal disciple Peter would betray him. The sheer display of his foresight left Cassandra's blood running cold. To have already known of a great torment, and to know he would suffer it alone? She thought of the Christ she saw hanging from the cross on her rosary and within the churches she had passed by all her life. He was indeed alone on the cross, but it never struck her just what a loneliness that was.

If it was difficult to endure before, The Agony in the Garden only further assaulted the fresh wound.

"_Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will, but yours be done_… Wow… How many times have I probably heard that part of the story in my life, and this is the first I've ever really thought about it."

"He… Didn't want to do it?" Cassandra asked.

"He wanted to do it Cassie. But he was scared… Very scared."

The man who had multiplied bread and fish, walked on water and even calmed storms with a command, and he was scared? Cassandra had trouble comprehending this. "Couldn't he just keep himself from feeling the pain?"

"Probably," Stephanie said. "But that would defeat the entire purpose of being God and man. He came to suffer like men do."

"But why did he have to suffer?" Cassandra asked. "Why did he _have_ to do this?"

"It was all part of the plan," Stephanie said. "I know it's sometimes hard to couple the two together with The Flood and things like that, but God and Jesus are the same person, and God loves all of us just the same way he does… By allowing himself to suffer like this for our sake, Jesus says that he loves us, more than we could ever know. No matter how out of line we get… And that he'll always take us back."

She stopped, grabbing a tissue out of the box on the end of Cassandra's desk, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. "Are you alright?" Cassandra asked.

"I always think I'm over it… I think I can get through my life and just never think about it again… No one ever asks me if I still think about Africa and how you all thought I was dead… And no one ever asks me if I still think about her." She blew her nose again. "I was a stupid kid. Gotham was hit by an earthquake, I thought I might never see my boyfriend again, trying to take care of my mom and looking for anything in the way of compassion… I know I shouldn't have done anything with him, but I really was just a stupid kid… And I tried to do the right thing for her, but I never even saw her face." She grabbed another tissue, "I know what it's like to feel like you're alone and in agony, and wondering if there wasn't some other way out… But no. There wasn't. Not for me, and not for him."

Cassandra scooted her chair in closer and wrapped her arms around the struggling Stephanie. There were a few minutes of heavy breaths and a few hiccups that followed before Stephanie again cleaned herself up and said, "Thank you Cassie… What would I ever do without you?"

"You wouldn't be reading this," she said, somewhat apologetically.

"I just gave you a compliment, don't just throw it away," she said with a halfhearted smile. "I'm not trying to say I've been through what he had to. I'm just saying it reminds a lot of how I feel sometimes."

"Would you ever look for her?" Cassandra asked.

"I went out of my way to make that impossible… I know it isn't, not when your mom's a doctor at the hospital where she was born and could just peek at the information any day, but it's easier for me to think it's impossible… Shall we get back to work then?"

"If you're alright."

"I'll be fine, thanks for listening… You're a good listener."

"Never had much choice," Cassandra pointed out, both laughing a little.

"Okay, time to get serious again…"

Onward she continued, to the betrayal of Judas, the attack by Peter which Jesus was quick to call off, reminding Cassandra firmly of the way Monsignor Ryan had commanded her to stop attacking the men who could well have killed him if she hadn't arrived in time. Stephanie continued past Peter's denial and described the exchanges in The Sanhedrin, the first council with Pilate and with Herod, stopping at one point and saying, "Okay… Don't get me wrong here, this is important. Everything in here is important. But this running around and talking to these guys? It's not _that_ important, okay? Don't make memorizing this part first priority."

"Alright."

Upon the second council with Pilate, Stephanie warned, "Hang in there. It's about to get rough… _So he addressed the man who had been imprisoned for rebellion and murder, for whom they asked, and he handed Jesus over to them to deal with as they wished_."

"Rebellion and murder? Truly?"

"That's what it says. They'd rather put a violent criminal out on the streets again than someone who just wants to bring about a little peace and order… I hate to say it, but Old Jerusalem and Gotham can really look alike sometimes."

At last they came to the verses Cassandra had dreaded the most. Stephanie was sure as she read it that Luke's account of The Passion was the least graphic, but the thoughts it conjured were still nightmarish to her, and she could only wonder what effect they would have on Cassandra. She described the journey to the hill, that Jesus had wished well and still been his normal hopeful self towards the women who had come to the execution to mourn him, he in return giving them blessings. Finally, there came the crucifixion proper.

"I always knew he had to get there somehow… But I don't understand."

"Do you really want to?" Stephanie asked. She nodded, although she did not look entirely sure, as if more in an attempt to alleviate confusion than satisfy wonder. "If we take the companion's word for it, it was a common criminal execution in Roman times. Nailed to the two sides of the cross you just carried, your body sinking down and um… I'm sorry, I just can't keep reading this, it's going to make me sick… You choke, okay? Don't ask me how exactly, it just somehow makes you choke." By now her friend's hand had been raised over her mouth in shock.

"It sounds horrific," Cassandra said.

"Really makes you wonder why people like the cross so much," she said under her breath. "How he died really shouldn't be as important as how he lived."

"He was scared before," Cassandra said, still trying to gather her thoughts.

"God only knows how he felt up there… But he never forgot what he came to do. _Now one of the criminals there reviled Jesus, saying, 'Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.' The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, 'Have you no fear of God for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed we have been condemned justly, for the sentences we received correspond justly with our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal!' Then he said, 'Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.' He replied, 'Amen I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise_.'"

Again Cassandra was left hushed at the dedication of the savior, giving comfort to another even in the time of his horrific suffering. It was not simply another act of goodness, it was the utter determination.

Truly, though he had pleaded for an escape from the suffering, he had embraced it when it became inevitable. He accepted scorn from the people he had come to save, and even nailed upon a cross, slowly suffocating, it was his place to give love and comfort to someone else, someone who had _earned_ their punishment upon the cross.

"_It was now about noon and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon because of an eclipse of the sun. Then the veil of the temple was torn down the middle. Jesus cried out in a loud voice, 'Father into your hands I commend my spirit'; and when he had said this he breathed his last_."

Stephanie then joined the silence, starring at Cassandra and waiting for some reaction.

"So… He really died?"

"Yes," Stephanie said, handing her a tissue. "He died."

Stephanie wasn't sure what she was expecting, but Cassandra remained fairly quiet as she dabbled at her eyes. "I do not know what I expected."

"Maybe you thought he was going to come down, like the crowd told him to… I dunno, I don't know that I've ever met someone who didn't already know for sure going in."

"I knew. But I didn't want to believe." She said, the look on her face now miserable as she again tried to clean herself up, not crying, but certainly not alright. "My favorite of them… Killed for trying to do good."

"Cassie? Um… You do know he comes back, right?" Stephanie asked.

"I have heard. But I do not know what that means."

"What that means, or what it means _here_?" Stephanie asked. "I mean, you know what 'coming back' is right? Like when Superman 'came back'?"

Again Cassandra seemed to freeze. "Did… Did he come back like that? I only mean-"

"No no, I get it," Stephanie said. "Coming back can mean a lot of things… Okay listen, alright?" She was now picking up some more momentum. "I'm gonna skim past this next part. Everything I just read? About how he was put to death and died? I told you that was important, and it is. It really is. But the part that comes after that? It's like, a hundred-thousand times _more_ important than that, okay?" She could tell Cassandra was now hooked on every word.

"It is? Then please continue."

"Okay, so after he died he was buried. Back then they would have caves with big rocks in front of them as graves. That's all you need to know for this next part." Her eyes skipped across verses until she arrived where she wanted. "_The women who had come from Galilee with him followed behind and when they had seen the tomb and the way in which the body was laid in it, they returned and prepared spices and perfumed oils. Then they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment._

_ But at daybreak on the first day of the week they took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were puzzling over this, behold, two men in dazzling garments appeared to them. They were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground. They said to them, 'Why do you seek the living amongst the dead? He is not here, but has been raised.'"_

"So… He did come back?" Cassandra asked, not simply recovering now, but a happiness possessing her for the first time since they had begun that day.

"Just like Superman, and about two-thousand years earlier… There's not much of Luke left. I'm just going to finish now that we're finally rolling."

"_And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with tem, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him."_

_ "'Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and enter into his glory?'"_

_ "With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight."_

_ "While they were still speaking of this, he stood in their midst and said to them, 'Peace be with you.'"_

_ "As he blessed them he parted from them and was taken up to heaven. They did him homage and then returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and they were continually in the temple praising God."_

It really hadn't taken very long to complete their reading, but Stephanie shut the book and sighed as if it had been hours. "Okay. Did all of that make sense to you?"

"He came back to say he forgave them," Cassandra said. "That he still loved them."

"That's right," Stephanie said. "But not just them. Everyone. That no matter how far we've strayed from his path… He came to save us, and no matter how much we proved we didn't deserve it, he's given it to us anyway."

"That's an incredible love."

"And an incredible forgiveness," Stephanie said, holding and rubbing her forehead. "Maybe that's something I need to remember more often."

"… Maybe that's what I need too."

"What do you mean?" Stephanie asked.

Cassandra looked down, trying to select her words carefully. "I want to feel forgiven… For my youth… For my father's actions."

"Those weren't your fault," Stephanie objected. "None of that was your fault."

"It doesn't matter… I have wanted to put it past me all my life…"

Stephanie considered this briefly before she asked, "Do you think that's why you put the costume on?"

"It's not the only reason," Cassandra said.

"But it is one of the big ones huh?" Cassandra nodded. "Yeah, I guess I knew that."

"Will Jesus really forgive me?"

"He already has."

"And does he really love me?"

"Enough to die for you."

Cassandra clasped her arms around her friend tightly, Stephanie needing only a moment to recover from the initial surprise before placing a hand on her back and gently saying, "Shh… Any normal person would have a hard time knowing what to say. It's a lot to take in, I know. You don't have to say anything."

With some struggle and a few brief chokes of breath, Cassandra pulled away and whispered, "I love him… And I love you." Stephanie was thrown off by this for a moment before she quickly said, "Not like Tim does… But because you have always been my friend. And you helped me discover Jesus… I love you."

A quick look of relief came across Stephanie's face before she said, "I love you too Cassie. And so does Tim. And Barbara. And Dick and Alfred and Bruce too." When she didn't reply immediately, Stephanie added, "It's probably about time you joined the club."

"Maybe."

"So what do you think? Do you think this is all right for you?"

Cassandra contemplated it for a moment, thinking on the long, horrible journey Jesus had been through, the agony he endured, and the good news he brought with him, even after his death.

Still, she was not sure she had heard him reply in her prayers. Though she was not sure she would recognize a response even if she received one, she didn't know what to think of the fact that praying still felt like silently speaking to herself. She did feel better after she did it, but wondered if that was really God's doing or just a release of her stress.

"I want him to be there when I go with Tim," Cassandra said. "I want to believe. And if I can just feel him there, I will believe."


	18. Chapter 18

_It is the middle of the night. I am awake, and it's too cold in here. I thought it good to try again._

_ It is only a few days before I join Tim at The Adoring… And I hope desperately that you are there._

_ You know me, you created me… Why try to talk to you at all? Is it for my sake?_

_ Stephanie said that you love me. That you love everyone. So why don't you say anything?_

_ If I could just hear you, I would know for sure. Maybe I wouldn't be so afraid._

_ And if you don't speak to anyone, how can any of them know? Do you speak to The Monsignor? Tim said you gave him authority to forgive. So why will you speak to him? Do you love him more than me? Has he proven himself more deserving? And why is it so cold? Has Alfred done something? Sorry, must keep focused…_

_ I did not know what hope was until I met The Batman, and now he is my father. Even before, he was more than my first ever was. He is quiet collected, but he still shows me._

_ But I had to wait for him to show me too… First he was my mentor. Then he became my father. Are you the same? Must I first learn from you? Then you will adopt me? I thought you were supposed to love me already._

_ Love me enough to lay down your life for me. Love others enough to lay down for them. Even the wrongdoers… Even ones like my parents…_

_ …_

_ I'm sorry, I need another blanket._

Cassandra opened her eyes and sat up in her bed, about to pull her covers off and retrieve more from her closet, but stopped just as she was about to rise. She ran a hand along her comforter, surprised to find it just a little warmer than before. She pulled it up and around her shoulders to confirm, and was sure: it was definitely warmer. Perplexed by this event, she slowly laid back down, curled up and now comfortable in the blanket before resuming.

_Was… Was that you? Did you do that?_

_ Is that what Tim meant when he said you don't speak with words?_

As she laid back farther, she felt almost as if her pillow was softer than before, an impressive task given the luxuries of Wayne Manor.

_Are you telling me to not be so scared? Or are you simply saying goodnight?_

Though an answer did not come to her in any easily identified way, Cassandra was sure she felt relaxed, the troubles and the cold that had kept her awake seeming to melt away as she sank farther and farther into her pillow and allowed her mind to slow itself, sleep quickly becoming her first priority.

_Well… Goodnight to you too then._

For just a moment before sleep overtook her, Cassandra could swear she was floating.


	19. Chapter 19

The circumstances of that Thursday night were so baffling that, for amongst the first times in her life, Cassandra wondered if everything was set up to her detriment.

With The Adoration the next day, she was not even planning on going out that night. Bruce had approved that, unless circumstances were dire, she would not be called.

At just after nine PM, Dick was calling frantically from Arkham Asylum.

"Every light just went out and I can hear the machinegun fire from out here!" He yelled. "How the hell did he even do it? We've been watching this place since he dropped the hint!"

"It must have been an inside job," Bruce said ruefully, pulling on his cowl. "We'll have everyone down there in thirty. Count on it. See if you can get the power back on in the meantime."

From over the communicator Batman could hear Nightwing dodging behind cover as bullets ricocheted in the background. "That's gonna be easier said than done… It looks like it's a lot of the nameless guys running around right now, but if Zsasz, Ten Eyed Man, and especially Joker show up, it's only going to get worse."

"Don't worry about Joker. I don't think he's going to try anything, he doesn't like to take advantage of any situation he didn't create by himself… I'd be more concerned about Croc."

"Crap, he's here too? I thought you said its been slow around here!"

"It _has_," Batman retorted. "Its been slow because we'd already locked them all up! It doesn't matter, do what you can out there, we'll join you as soon as possible." He turned to Tim and Cassandra, both still pulling their uniforms on. "We need to get out there now. Cassandra, you're riding with me. Tim… Any chance you could keep Spoiler to the city."

"Do you have any idea who you're talking about?" Tim asked.

"Fine. Sooner or later I need to upgrade some of her equipment… She's your responsibility for tonight. Cassandra," he said, turning to her, "I'm sorry again, but we need every set of hands we can get."

Cassandra swiftly pulled on her mask and climbed into the Batmobile, Batman only a few steps behind her and in seconds the two were blasting out of the cave, headed for the asylum. Through the crowded streets the vehicle raced, Batman seeming unusually on edge as his foot kept slammed on the gas. To her own surprise, Cassandra found herself praying at one point that he not crash into anything.

He crossed the town, grabbing ahold of his radio and trying to get ahold of Commissioner Gordon, trying for minutes with one hand on the wheel before Gordon answered. "Batman? Is it you?"

"Yes Jim. I got word from Nightwing, Arkham Asylum is under siege."

"What else is new?" Gordon sighed.

"Someone's supplied them with firearms this time," Batman replied.

"What?! Who's behind this?"

"We're sure it's that Seraphim figure. It's certainly ambitious enough to be him."

"Damn it! I hate these fresh faces, they go so out of their way to prove themselves… I'll get as many of my guys over to you as soon as I can, but you're going to have to get things started."

"Affirmative. We're less than five miles away, we'll be on their footsteps shortly." With that he ended his transmission with Gordon and pressed two fingers to his cowl. "Oracle, were you able to access the security cameras inside the asylum?"

"I have… And it really looks bad. Mindbent Joker goons are all over the first level, some raving non-allied lunatics jumping off from the second story and trying to tackle them… Looks like Hatter's trying to rally some of them-"

"I just took out Zsasz, but the bastard got some good cuts in," Nightwing radioed. "It's only getting worse. Please tell me you're almost here."

"Count on it."

Batman managed to drive up the swerving path to Arkham with ease, despite the Batmobile's ridiculous speed and drove straight through the giant gate. Cassandra briefly got a look at Dick dodged behind a broken-down car for cover as madmen with guns ran towards him, firing at the car without second thought. Batman quickly slowed the vehicle. "Get out and help Dick. I'll clear us a path into the asylum."

With a nod, Batman opened the top of the Batmobile and allowed Cassandra to jump, landing her in the midst of the firefight. The crazed gunmen turned their attentions from Nightwing, but not towards Batgirl, but the Batmobile.

This distraction allowed Nightwing and Batgirl to get the edge. The ones nearest to Dick were quickly knocked out, either by darts fired from his gauntlets or a quick flurry of strikes from his escrima sticks, while Cassandra dispatcher hers with well-placed strikes to the chest and necks, knocking them unconscious.

Batman drove the car through the courtyard, firing a few warning shots worth of explosives into the grass, daring any of the individuals in the asylum to try and attack him. Either out of knowing his refusal to kill or the madness that had brought them to the asylum, some of them continued to fire, but were instantly dispatched by sprays of rubber bullets. Batgirl and Nightwing were able to catch up as the remaining few tossed down their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, Batman opening the door to the madhouse.

The gunfire that had been loud outside became deafening as it echoed through the asylum's corridors. Bloody bodies laid amongst the mounting destruction, though, to the surprise of all three of them, the main hall was not running amok with the inmates, only fifteen of them standing in a line of eight and a line of seven, glazed over looks in their eyes as the mousy voice of Jervis "Mad Hatter" Tetsch came from somewhere in the many square walkways above them.

"Tsk tsk tsk, you're very late to tea Batman. And I'm trying to celebrate today. The men in the masks wanted me to have a very special un-birthday, yes they did."

"People are dying Tetsch!" Batman shouted. "Let us through, if you let this riot go on you'll soon be one of them!" He tried to take a step forward, but was stopped by several rounds of pistol fire from one of the men in the front row.

"No no no Batman!" The Hatter yelled. "That is _not_ how you play chess! You're trying to cheat!"

Batman's eyes darted at the fifteen he stood against, noting those in the front row only wielded handguns while those in the second had a variety of larger weapons, a single individual, whom he now noted was wearing an oversized blonde wig, holding a rocket launcher.

"Batgirl, I'm guessing you don't even know how to play chess," Nightwing muttered.

"Sorry," Cassandra replied.

The three stood against the fifteen as more sounds could be heard raging down the halls before Batman threw a batarang directly at the man in the wig, cutting into his forehead and catching him off-guard, forcing him to drop his launcher. The pawns stepped forward and began to fire as Nightwing pulled a small, electrical explosive from his side and threw it into their midst, a pulse running across the ground and shocking the four closest to it. Not to be outdone, Batgirl took a jump into the center of four of their own, smashing first her elbows into the two behind her, jumping forward and crashing the two's heads together and knocking them out in another few hits.

Batman, to their surprise, didn't rush to attack the others, raising his grapple claw and ascending the walkways as Cassandra and Dick continued to tackle the "chess pieces", each receiving a few bullet grazes as a result. After a few minutes, both of them growing short on breath, Batman emerged from the walkway as The Mad Hatter screamed and struggled, held over the side of the railing.

"I've captured the king," Batman said. "Call them off."

"Checkmate!" The Mad Hatter screamed. "Checkmate!" As he said it, the men Cassandra and Dick were facing seemed to fall unconscious, each of them hitting the ground thereafter. Batman returned The Hatter to the walkway and delivered a punch to his jaw, knocking him unconscious.

"Clear their bodies," Batman said. "No one else needs to die because of him tonight."

It was a quick process between the three of them, though it gave them all a good chance to look at the destruction The Seraphim had already allowed to take place as bodies laid strewn about. Robin came in over his communicator, confirming that he and Spoiler were on their way, which Batman gave a grim nod to and motioned that Nightwing and Batgirl should proceed ahead of him.

Cassandra silently considered the dead men, some of whom she was sure she had put away herself. Even before what she had read with Stephanie she would have been moved with pity for the dead, but now she felt both more sympathy and more peace. Jesus had been made to suffer horrors for trying to help others. These men were insane, surely, but that was why they weren't killed by the state. Madmen didn't deserve this kind of punishment for what they could not understand, and she quietly prayed, "_Please. That they did not suffer._"

But she also remembered the promise he had made to the man being crucified next to him. _Today you will join me in paradise_. They had still committed crimes, still dealt wrongs unto others. Could they deserve peace in spite of that? When she thought on her own mistakes, Cassandra quickly pushed the thoughts out of her mind. They were questions for the next day.

At last the three arrived at the asylum's main hall. Of the scenes they had already witnessed, the main hall was by far the worst. The statue of Amadeus Arkham stood riddled with bullet dents, bodies spread all around and blood soaking the floor. Men shot and strangled one another all across the room, as a circle of The Seraphim's cohorts (including another four Cherubim wielding sniper rifles) stood watching the action. When the inmates turned towards the Batman family, several with guns in their hands raised them to fire, but those who dared were blasted through the heads by the snipers. In the center of the room, near the statue, sat a tiny office surrounded in bulletproof glass, a lone figure evident inside. Though its body was obscured by the protective glass, it was clear then he was standing, a microphone linked to the speakers that covered the walls in his hand.

"SILENCE!" The figure commanded. "The Batman has finally arrived! Raise a gun to him and The Cherubim will blow you to hell!"

Batman and Cassandra stared intently at the office. His voice and pronunciation made it unquestionable: This was The Seraphim.

As a few more inmates raised their weapons towards Batman, the four Cherubim sealed their fates, as Batman himself now commanded, "Enough!"

To his surprise, no one said anything for a few seconds, before a high pitched voice yelled, "Yeah! Let's hear what the psycho who dumped a buncha guns across Arkham has to say to The Bat!"

The Family's eyes turned towards the northeast corner of the room, where the white-faced menace The Joker sat cross-legged in his orange asylum jumpsuit, tapping his fingers together with a wide smile across his face. "And you can quit glaring at me Batman! I didn't mount this attack, I'm not interested in it. I just want to see what's going to happen."

A few men turned towards Joker and attempted to take some shots, but The Cherebim quickly dispatched them as well, The Seraphim shouting, "The clown is mine too!"

As more inmates dropped dead, the room finally went quiet enough for the mastermind to continue. "Welcome to the Philistine camp Batman. I'm impressed a heathen like yourself managed to make sense of the message my angel slipped… Rest assured, he's been damned."

"We have nothing to discuss," Batman said firmly. "You're a self-righteous, murderous zealot. And not the first one I've defeated either."

"Rest assured, I will be the last of them," The Seraphim replied. "I have come to deliver this cursed city to its fate… Look around you! This is Gotham's natural state, mere moments away from every citizen tearing one another apart!"

"Hey, I've been telling him that for years!" Joker shouted over the commotion. "This is hardly original material!"

"Be silent damn you!" The Seraphim commanded. "You will have your moment to be judged! But The Batman has proven himself too eager to witness the power and glory!"

Cassandra could listen to no more. "This is not the will of God!" She shouted. "This is not what Jesus died for!"

"Batgirl, steady yourself," Batman ordered.

"You disgrace his name and sacrifice with this destruction. You are no angel, you are like the ones he cured, full of demons!"

The four Cherubim immidietly turned their snipers towards her, as if waiting for some command. To everyone's surprise, The Seraphim said, "Hold your fire." And the snipers were lowered. "She is foolish and misinformed… But there is no more welcome a convert than a former enemy. Batman is our only true foe, it is his actions more than any other that have prevented God's will from coming to fruition… Let his disciples live. They can surely be made to see the light."

"I will never be like you!" Cassandra replied.

"And you will never have a hand over any of my students," Batman said firmly. "And if you're so convinced you are the weapon of my destruction, then call off your snipers and face me on your own! After all, if God is with you, who can stand against you?"

Joker looked down at his arm as if he was checking the time. "Where the hell is Harley with that package?"

"Very well Batman!" The obscured figure said. "If this city's reckoning is to come tonight, than you shall disappear amongst this asylum's casualties! I came here to act as Gideon, but you have turned me into Ehud, sent to finally bring the stab that slays the corrupted emperor!"

The Seraphim paused in his place behind the bulletproof glass for several second before a gigantic outline of spread from behind his back. He took several steps forward, exiting the office and coming into view.

The Seraphim was tall, just shy of seven feet. Upon his chest he wore armor modeled after the crusaders, a large, blood red cross decorating the front of his plate. His armor was sleeveless, though several tubes led from his back to oversized gauntlets on his arms, which were revealed to be entirely covered in tattoos of the Enochian alphabet. Two small angelic wings sprouted from the sides of his belt, covering the tops of his legs and poorly hiding the guns he had strapped to his side. The outline that had formed as he left the office proved to be another large pair of angelic wings that attached somewhere on his back. In his right hand he clutched a large wave-bladed sword, it too with several modifications, pipes and tubes running along it.

His face was covered by a helmet, though his lips were visible and his eyes obscured further by a final pair of tiny wings covering where they would conceivably be. Here The Seraphim stood, in all his haunting exaltation.

"So tell me then Batman," The Seraphim said, a devilish smile coming across his face as he approached and adjusting one of the valves on his left gauntlet. "Does one such as yourself know what 'A Seraphim' is?"

"Is it terrible fashion sense?" The Joker asked.

"Ignoring the fact that you used the plural instead of the singular, it's a class of angel… It means 'The burning ones'."

"Very well spoken Batman," The Seraphim mocked, adjusting a valve on the hilt of his sword as well before clenching his left hand. A jet of flame suddenly burst forth, every eye in the room now focused on him as he raised the burning gauntlet to his sword, igniting it as well as Batman looked on in unease.

"He's got to have a tank on his back full of fuel and another one attached to his sword," he muttered, turning towards Nightwing and Batgirl. "Keep clear of that thing you two! This is my fight."

"Faces of The Cherebim, secure The Batman's disciples!" The Seraphim yelled, the four quickly descending form their place on the walkways. "And though I burn as we begin Batman, rest assured," he raised the flaming sword and took his stance. "It will be you who burns in the end!"


	20. Chapter 20

Every mind, every movement, every action within the asylum's main hall seemed to jump from zero to sixty in a fraction of a second. Batman and The Seraphim rushed at one another in the room's center. Batgirl and Nightwing retreated from his side, each of them under attack by two of The Cherubim faces and the innumerable inmates surrounding them.

Batman threw aside his cape as The Seraphim took his first swing, the sword already beginning to scorch the ground the moment it made contact. He made several punches at the winged helmet, but The Seraphim did not respond, instead just continuing to swing at him with the burning blade.

Since lethal force had not been authorized, The Cherubim stuck strictly to martial arts for this confrontation, but were quick to prove themselves experts in that area as well. As Batgirl now found herself pitted against The Lion and The Man, she had to question just how they could possibly be so articulate. Both maneuvered gracefully and every punch or kick that they delivered proved powerful and precise. Under those masks they were surely just the same as the The Eagle that had been unmasked, confused, barely conscious, and unaware of their actions. How then could they prove such powerful opponents? No strike seemed to provoke a reaction out of either as she alternated which one she struck. Even attempts to strike and lock pressure points proved ineffective and, in moments she wasn't used to, left her vulnerable to attack. Her eyes darted constantly between the gigantic man and the slimmer Lion. Though she was able to mostly dodge out the attacks from The Man, it took several strikes from The Lion to adjust to his constant attacks and the slashes of his claws, which he notably had not forgone.

Out of the corner of her eyes she could sometimes see Nightwing, struggling to make an impression of any kind as he battled The Eagle and The Ox. Even as electricity crackled off his escrima sticks with each and every bash, neither of his opponents showed any sign of slowing. The Eagle, being the smallest and most agile, managed to slip behind his back at one points and locked him in a hold. Though Nightwing managed to butt against its head to ward it off, the hold was enough to permit The Ox to land several punches to his face. By the time The Eagle had been repelled and he was thrusting strikes into the stomach of The Ox, it was clear blood was running between his teeth.

She struggled to think back on what they had learned about the Cherubim from the first battle, and the obvious returned to her. "The masks!" Batgirl cried. "Remove the masks!" The Eagle had been rendered helpless when his mask had been removed before, it was the first and best lead they had to go off of.

As the Lion closed in on her again, Cassandra made a considerable effort to get behind him and try and remove his mask. But The Lion's mane effectively covered any obvious line between where human being and mask met, and Batgirl found herself forced to draw a batarang.

If she could not see the point to separate the human from The Lion, she would have the cut one from the other. But even as she tried The Man interfered, grabbing ahold of her by the cape and jerking her away from his comrade, allowing The Lion to retaliate with a slash across her face.

Her mask and face both suffered cuts, enough to reveal her mouth from behind the cloth, three lines of fresh blood and a cry of pain in their wake. Batgirl managed to adjust her handle on the batarang enough to sever the handful of cape The Man was holding, which he tossed aside without a thought. At least the asylum inmates seemed to have calmed down under the threat of the rest of The Seraphim's servants ready to fire if they took a step out of line.

With another considerable struggle, Batgirl drew out two more batarangs and ran at The Man and The Lion. They would not respond to any normal attack or even techniques that would leave other opponents on the ground, unable to move. She had to hope, for the sake of everything she believed in, that even _more_ dangerous attacks would finally have an impact. As the two charged her, she swallowed hard, her eyes looking towards the ceiling for a split second, praying simultaneously what she was about to attempt would _and_ wouldn't work, and drew two more batarangs.

Dodging to The Lion's side, she ran forward and managed to cut into the armor with the two batarangs, drawing small cuts in The Lion's skin. Despite combat from The Lion she managed to cut a hole into the armor, revealing his pale, white chest.

Her mind raced for a singular memory of a past battle. A dual, she had agreed, would be to the death.

Lady Shiva's hobby was searching the world for the most powerful warriors and then killing them, that's what she had always been taught. Worse than that even was the knowledge the master was her own mother. Though they promised to battle to the death, she had come out of their confrontations alive… Though one battle was particularly pertinent.

Two fingers were thrust against her heart with enough force to kill the muscle entirely before Shiva awoke it again with a slam of her fist. Even in the heat of that moment, her observational skills were working their very hardest, deciphering the technique and its violent intentions. She hoped against hope that if she could just strike with less force, spread the attack along a larger surface…

_Please… I need a miracle_.

Batgirl thrust her palm into The Lion's heart. Her opponent, after all of his opposition, shuddered for a moment before falling to the ground, the eyes of every inmate and compatriot of The Seraphim now on her.

"She… She's killed The Lion!" One of the men cried from the walkways. "The bat bitch killed The Lion!" Even The Seraphim and Batman had their attention turned to the scene as the screaming man raised his rifle, ready to fire at Cassandra before The Seraphim drew a magnum from his belt and fired, the bullet blasting his servant in the head and killing him instantly. Even Batman was thrown by this.

"He was one of your men!" He shouted.

"And he didn't know how to follow orders," The Seraphim said smugly. "You are my friends if keep my commands, but whoever is not with me is against me." He turned the gun then towards Batman and took a shot directly into his chest, his Kevlar armor shielding most of the blast but still forcing him off balance. "As suspected. And why I didn't even bother." He raised the gun then towards Batman's head. "Let's try that again."

He was about to pull the trigger when there was a roar from down one of the adjacent hallways. The eyes that had just been towards turned Batgirl now glared as two sets of footsteps, one light and quick, the other great and heavy, made themselves known from the hallway.

"Sorry I took so long puddin'! They really didn't want the big guy getting' out!"

With her prisoner's pants torn well above her knees and her top rolled above her navel, Harley Quinn managed to make up for her lack of traditional clown makeup in assuring those gathered who she was. A few steps behind her the great, towering Killer Croc entered the room, snarling fiercely as he examined the chaos. Again, The Seraphim's firing squad turned their attention towards him, ready to fire on command, but The Seraphim did not give them one.

"No worries Harley!" The Joker laughed. "I just got a good look at these guys and thought, 'I gotta get the big, mean, green, Cajun machine in here!' After all, big ol' Crocky was having a conversation about faith just a few weeks back with one of the clergy. What was that thing you asked him big guy?"

"I wanted to know what he thought an angel would taste like," Croc sneered. "Looks like I'm about to find out."

"I didn't come here for your blood, Jones," The Seraphim said, raising his gun, "But I can easily add you to the body count."

With a moment open Batman threw a batarang and knocked the magnum out of The Seraphim's hand. The angel reeled for a moment and again raised his flaming sword, but Croc proceeded to close the distance, grabbing ahold of him by one of his wings, jerking him around to look him face-to-mask and began laying into him, forcing him to drop the sword and fight barehanded. Batman let out a sigh of relief and rushed to Batgirl's side as she pulled off The Lion's mask, stopping briefly to counter an attack by The Man intended for her.

"I've never seen you attempt that before… Is he alright?" Batman asked gravely.

"He is breathing," Cassandra assured, getting a good look at The Lion's face. "He will be fine."

As the two stood up to further engage The Man, they could hear a voice from within their cowls.

"Sorry we're running so late, but Spoiler and I are right outside, GCPD's just a few steps behind us, how should we proceed?"

"Let's find out," Batman said, turning towards the action at the room's center. "Seraphim! This attack of yours is over, the GCPD will be right outside the door momentarily. And rest assured, they'll go to the lengths I won't!"

"That a promise Batman?" The Seraphim asked, dodging a blow from Croc before grabbing ahold of one of his arms, igniting his flaming gauntlet, and pressing the open flame to Croc's skin. The sound of his scaly flesh burning and his roar of agony was enough to overtake the room, Batman looking disgusted with such a brutal tactic as the great Killer Crock fell to his knees. "Guess I'll just have to speed things up then," The Seraphim said, and promptly stomped on Croc's upper arm, smashing the bone with ease and eliciting another roar of pain. The three remaining Cherubim faces ran to his side as he brought a hand to his ear. "Have we completed our pick up? Good. Start the copter, we'll finish things with Batman another time. Set it off."

From the wall behind The Seraphim there came a deafening explosion, blasting a gigantic hole in the wall of the asylum's main hall, clearing a path to three helicopters just outside the asylum, the blades of the nearest beginning to slowly rotate as The Seraphim's remaining servants retreated from the walkways, firing blindly into the crowd of inmates as The Cherubim dragged Killer Croc's body out with them towards the helicopters.

Batman, Nightwing and Batgirl attempted to peruse them, but the blind fire of the unnamed servants kept them too far away. Desperate for any kind of resolution to the night, Batman pulled a tracking device from his belt, attached it to a batarang and threw it towards The Seraphim's chopper, quietly cutting into the side as he and his warriors stepped in and took flight.

The three starred bitterly as the copters flew off into the distance, turning towards the destruction that the angels had wrought. Fires raged in the midst of the hole blown in the wall, bodies and guns strewn all about the main hall as the GCPD, Robin and Spoiler finally made their entrance. By the time Gordon and his men commanded, "FREEZE!" most of the surviving inmates were too defeated or too weary to oppose them, and the few who did offer opposition were quickly dispatched in a few strikes by Robin and Spoiler.

"What in God's name happened here?" Gordon asked, disturbed as his eyes darted all about the asylum's ruins.

"You were right. The Seraphim really did want to leave a massive impression," Batman reported. "I fought him briefly, he's very strong. Strong enough to take out Croc in a few blows. His followers are utterly devout, he killed one to show his authority and none of them wavered… And he has some incredible resources at his disposal. They just flew three helicopters out of here."

"What the hell," Gordon said, shaking his head. "Who knows how long he's been planning this, and what could come next."

Everyone remained there quietly as Gordon and the rest of his officers began to coax the inmates back into their cells, Joker and Harley still seated in a corner, the madman laughing hard as he had all night.

"Gotta say I love the kid's style! Waltz in and give a bunch of crazymen guns, blow up a lotta crap on his way out, and beat the hell out of one of our favorite heavies! I'd like to see him go a few rounds with Bane next!" He laughed as the police pushed him farther and farther away from the scene. "I'll let this one blow over, gotta see where it goes, but I'll pay you a visit as soon as it's over Batman. Wouldn't want you forgetting lil' ol' me!"

Batman gave him a glare before he turned to his forces. "You're all done here. Gotham needs you."

"And we only just arrived," Robin chuckled, leading Spoiler towards the entrance before Dick also made his way out.

"I want to stay," Batgirl said. "Until someone arrives to care for him," she continued, referring to The Lion. "Everyone else too… Until the ambulances come."

"That's noble, and I'll allow it tonight," Batman said. "Provided we don't get any more nasty reports… But don't make a habit of it, it will surely slow you down."

Batman then made his way towards the damaged but still intact corner office, Batgirl a few steps behind him as he examined the area where The Seraphim had started the riot. Upon the tiny desk within was a manila folder, the name on the front crudely scribbled out. Everything within the folder however was intact as Batman scanned it.

"Daniel Lebowitz," he read slowly. "Known family: Older brother Joshua Lebowitz…"

"Who is that?" Batgirl asked,

"Suffers from what we are most likely predicting is a combination of Messiah complex and sociopathy, amongst other possibilities… Claims to be a member and profit of, 'The Church of The Voice of God" (No information on such an institution available). Fiercely violent amongst other inmates, justifies actions by claiming he has a greater purpose he was sent to fulfill…" Batman turned in anger towards the gigantic hole still visible in the wall where The Seraphim had escaped from. "That Cassandra… That was Daniel Lebowitz… And I hope you're now even more aware of how far you have to fall to be anything like him."

"His beliefs are horrible," Cassandra said. "I do not feel the hate from Jesus he talks about. I only feel the love."

"Good," Batman said as he began recording photographs of the folder to send to Barbara. "Believe what you will Cassandra, but don't you dare let him take any of that away from you." The two were silent for a moment before he said, "I highly doubt anything more is going to happen tonight, and you're still going to Adoration tomorrow. You should probably get some rest."

"I will," she said, "But I am still waiting for the ambulances."

Batman nodded and went to meet with Gordon, Cassandra leaning until she sat against the office. In spite of what she told Batman, she was sure she couldn't _not_ be troubled by what she had just seen.

So much destruction, wrought in the name of a man, maybe a god that she admired. She did not feel shaken in her desire to go to Adoration and continue seeking Christ, but she had to wonder how many men such as The Seraphim existed. How many could so horrifyingly taint the message of the Messiah?

How many of the ones he died to save were slaughtered in his name?


	21. Chapter 21

Cassandra and Tim made their way to Saint Michael's after Tim returned home from school. The battle at the asylum left Cassandra exhausted and falling asleep on the bus, Tim looking at her, concerned. "You sure you're gonna be okay?" He asked.

"I will be fine," she said, yawning and stretching.

Stephanie had said she would come along, but for once Cassandra had found it in her to refuse. Though she and Tim believed most of the same things, Cassandra had become very aware of what a point of difference Adoration was, and she didn't want her friend to feel uncomfortable. This was her situation, and she wanted to go through it properly, only tying it back to Tim because of his experience. They were two stops away as the bus continued through the streets and continued struggling to keep herself awake.

"If you do doze off in there, just know you aren't alone," Tim said, chuckling a little. "I've done that too." They were quiet for much of the next stop, now closing in on the church. "Hey, uh, that thing I said. About 'between your mouth and your throat' or whatever? That was an inaccurate oversimplification. That's not actually how it works."

"I guessed," Cassandra said. "Otherwise it would not be changed when you adore it."

She had to adjust herself every so often to ensure everything was still in order. Tim had advised she wear a dress so as to look the part most convincingly. She only very rarely wore them, and was initially very hesitant. With every bump her hand jumped to the skirt to keep it firmly in place, in spite of the concealing leggings she was wearing underneath. She had been around enough other women to be well aware of how to look proper in a dress (and indeed, it had informed her almost universal decision to avoid them entirely) and she wanted to be nothing less than her most proper for the time that was fast approaching. She envied Tim's position as he sat comfortably in a button up and slacks, thinking nothing of the bus as it bumped along.

After what seemed like an eternity of thumps, thuds and nearly falling asleep, the bus made its stop just across the street from the cathedral. Tim made his way out first, motioning to Cassandra to follow as the two made their way to the gigantic church.

"You ever heard the expression, 'When in Rome?'" Tim asked.

"Remind me," Cassandra replied.

"'When in Rome, do as the Romans do,'" Tim recited. "It means that if you're unsure of what's going on, just keep an eye on me. I've been here before. I know what I'm doing. Mostly." Finally the two came to the door, Tim giving a last sigh and granting his adopted sister a look. "And one more thing, okay Cass?"

"Yes?"

"If this doesn't work for you, don't get bent outta shape. There are lots of other religions you can look into, if you still want to look into ones at all. Lots of kinds of Christianity too, even if you don't find what you're looking for here, lots of other people worship Jesus as well… Just now how much you like the guy."

"Thank you," she said. "It is reassuring."

"I'm just saying," Tim continued, opening the door at last. "Catholocism isn't for everybody."

As they made their way into the cathedral Cassandra could already feel something very different from the last time she had come there. There was more that was obvious, the meaning of the symbols about her now made sense. In the center of the atrium just outside the church proper there stood a statue she now recognized as Mary, cradling the infant Jesus in her arms and made of some pure white material. The floor was made of some kind of glossy stone, leading into the space where maybe three dozen people, some alone, others with families, were spread out and praying. Tim led her to a basin of water on their way into the nave, he briefly dipping two fingers in with his right hand and consecrating himself, muttering, "In the name of the father, son and the holy spirit." He then turned to Cassandra.

"Father, son, holy spirit," she repeated, properly mimicking his crossing motions. With a nod he led her through the aisles and towards a pew near the front. Again Cassandra's eyes were opened to more of the sights within. The stained glass decorating the walls depicted Jesus in various states of speech and action, until she noticed him carrying his cross, and which point she became aware that the stained glass portrayed Jesus on his way to his execution. She could not help but find herself a little disappointed, as with every appearance of stained glass she felt more and more touched by its beauty, but here it was used to depict such a time of growing despair. She wondered if all stained glass must be used to depict tragedy, as she looked to the front and was reminded that the glass also depicted Christ crucified, the carved statue just below it offering a recreation of the action.

Before he had simply been a man who had surely done good and whose death was regularly celebrated. Now he was increasingly becoming one of the centralmost figures in the girl's life.

Tim led her down a pew where the two could easily look at the monstrance sitting upon the alter. Candles flickered all around the brilliant, golden container with a cross etched upon its top. But Cassandra had learned it was not the holder that she had come to see.

Within the Monstrance there was contained a single, circular piece of unleavened bread, which too had a cross formed in its center. It wasn't an impressive thing by itself to a casual passerby. And yet within the institution of Catholicism, the tiny wafer literally contained the creator of all of the universe. The one who shaped the oceans, made man from the dirt of the earth, came to redeem every man, woman and child in all of existence from eternal pain and darkness. Cassandra quietly considered the fact that she could well be before the infinite power of God almighty, and felt a shiver rush through her body. It was incredible how small the humble wafer made her feel.

She slipped in next to Tim, her eyes transfixed on the bread until Tim nudged her with his elbow and said, "You usually start by kneeling." And, using his foot, lowered the pads from the pew just in front of him. Cassandra lowered herself to her knees as he did, crossed her hands, and began to pray. She didn't close her eyes, both for fear of falling asleep and her inability to look away from the alter.

_God, Jesus, I have come to your temple_, she silently said. _I have come to find you. I know you do not speak with words, but if you are there, right in front of me, you know I am here._

As she prayed, she found her eyelids growing heavier. With a quick shake of her head she managed to wake herself up a little more. _I'm sorry. I was very busy last night. As you surely know._ None of this was helped that, in spite of the chill outside, the church was strangely warm, though neither surprisingly nor in an uncomfortable way. She wished it was colder, for in such conditions, she could feel sleep threatening her more readily.

_Please. You sent signs to your servants. I love your son. I love everything about him, but I need to know that was not just a legend. You are his father, and he called you a good father. Despite the destruction, I can love you too."_

Again she shook, struggling to continue fighting off the exhaustion that the battle within Arkham had inflicted, and she was sure she was losing.

"Okay, we can sit up now if you want," Tim said. Cassandra nodded to him as they sat up in the pews and returned the pads to their previous positions. With that done, Cassandra resumed her prayer.

_I will share everything with you. I will call you father and master, if that truly is what you are to me. But I wish to know… I do not need words, but I seek something…_ She was now rubbing her eyes vigorously, trying to force any tiredness from them. _I want to believe, but I want to know too… Is it just the idea of you, or is it really you out there inspiring people like Monsignor Ryan. He believes in you. He is dedicated to you. I can love you as well, I just need… I just need…_

Cassandra gave one more look up at the host as it sat at room's center and she at last lost her battle with exhaustion, fading into sleep as she again lowered her head.


	22. Chapter 22

There was something different about the sleep she had fallen into. Some part of her mind remained acutely aware that she was still seated in the pew before the consecrated host. And yet as she found herself dreaming, she could sand between her toes. She looked down to find herself now barefoot, standing on a beach. It was just bright enough outside and the air was a temperature identical to the cozy one within the church. As she looked around, trying to examine her surroundings, she noticed she was not alone.

He was, of course, very different from anything she had seen of him so far, and yet there were certainly parallels to be drawn. He wore a white trench coat in place of the flowing robes she had commonly seen and a similarly colored t-shirt underneath. The coat was buttoned most of the way, covering most of his legs but exposing them enough to reveal he was wearing blue jeans, something that made Cassandra laugh inside her mind a little.

She wasn't sure what to make of the tone of his skin. He was too dark to be white, too light to be black and seemed to contradict any other tone she'd ever seen in some way or another. He was unique, but not unnatural. His deep black hair and beard were shaggy, as she'd always seen them, and though his eyes shown bright blue there was a definite gentleness to the figure. He raised a hand to her in greeting, and she noticed the deep scars within his palms, a few more visible when he briefly combed aside his hair.

There could be no doubt. She was standing, within this dream, before the son of God himself.

She was unsure of just how to respond at first. It was certainly a far cry from the burning bush, he was nothing she could not comprehend. Still, there was simultaneously a greatness and quietness to him, befitting the one who was man and God that she had heard described to her. Desperately seeking a response of some kind, she opened her mouth, only for Jesus to extend a hand, as if to tell her not to speak. She looked at him as they shared the silence, only the waves of the ocean producing any sound. When the stillness seemed to have gone on just long enough, he unbuttoned his coat, peeled it off and set it aside, likewise bending down and loosening the sandals he wore until he could kick them off, turning then towards the ocean. Cassandra followed his lead and she too looked out. There was nothing but water for miles, no clear land beyond the beach they stood upon to be seen. After taking in the great expanse of the horizon, Jesus turned to her and offered one of his scarred hands, which she accepted, and began to move towards the water.

True to the stories, his foot did not disappear beneath the waves when he took his first step, but remained on its surface, walking across it as if it was concrete. When Cassandra attempted to do likewise she found her foot fall beneath the surf and into the chilly water below. He did not stop walking as she slowly but surely slipped deeper and deeper into the water. At last she tugged at his arm and he finally turned to her, the water now up to her knees as she struggled to keep up. He looked down at her, the softness somehow even more present now. His eyes seemed to plead to her.

_Trust me._

She took a deep breath and a hard swallow as she met those brilliant eyes. She remembered the way that Peter's faith had permitted him to walk on the water with Christ. But he was an apostle, chosen personally. How could she amount to that?

Then again, he apparently _had_ chosen her personally, as he now stood before her, guiding her to walk by his side. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the situation, considered what she had already seen and, more importantly, felt. Then, she again looked into his eyes, trying to speak through her eyes the same way he had.

_I wil… No… I do._

She raised her right foot out of the ocean and brought it downward. Instead of falling under the waves, to her shock, it remained just on the top of the water, which felt solid as stone under her. With that, she raised her left and after a moment of struggle, managed to balance herself. Jesus gave her a wide, toothsome smile, as if to assure her he knew she could do it.

Their hands still together, Jesus began to lead her across the water slowly, at least at first. He still said nothing, which Cassandra at first remained questionable about, but reminded herself of what Tim had said, that God did not like to speak with words. So she just continued as he walked, still marveling at the way her feet held themselves to the surface of the water.

Putting out his free hand, Jesus made a small motion and the ocean itself was instantly bent to his will. The waves before them were left completely in place and without movement before they began to cut and shape themselves downwards, a gigantic staircase shaped from the water now leading down into the ocean's depths. Before Cassandra could continue to awe, he led her down the stairs and under the ocean's roars and waves until the staircase leveled and they were surrounded by water on every side. As they walked through the narrow tunnel, itself an anomaly to all known to anyone with a basic understanding of physics, Christ raised his hand again. In an instant the ocean was turned to a dazzling golden color.

Cassandra double took at this and looked towards him, fearful of some greater implication before he raised his hand again and it was turned to green. And so he continued through reds and purples and oranges, until soon Cassandra found herself unable to identify the radiant colors he continued to effortlessly produce. With every motion a new shade, more glorious than the last engulfed the entire ocean, until he began to wave his hand about like a conductor's baton. With each little sweep the ocean shifted, the colors changing faster and faster until Cassandra felt as if she was staring into a rainbow. When Jesus lowered his hand after the last of the great flashes of color, he made a new motion out of raising his hand, the water beneath them slowly rising towards the "ceiling" above them. At first Cassandra felt scared again, sure they would be crushed, but then remembered it was only water and the kind of company she was keeping.

When the two met the ocean above them again Cassandra shut her eyes tight and took a deep breath, ready to swim to the surface again, but noticed Jesus did not do the same. She started swimming as soon as she could and Jesus did likewise, though with less vigor and strength. Still, she did not relinquish his hand, believing he knew what he was doing, but growing increasingly fearful. The two of them had descended very deep beneath the ocean on their way down the staircase, how much more would she have to swim before she could open her eyes and breathe again? As she felt herself growing short of breath, she noticed Jesus's hand as it tapped her on the elbow. She turned towards him, her eyes still tightly shut as he lightly touched her cheeks. She was unsure of what to make of it at first, but with little objection opened her mouth. Furthering her surprise, she found she could breathe. It was not air she was inhaling, she was sure of it, but it still filled her the same way the oxygen above had. It took her so that she opened her eyes to look at him again and found they were not in pain. Not only was the water free of salt, her vision was crystal clear, the better to see the savior with.

With that she too slowed her swim, moving at a relaxed pace as she and Jesus made their way towards the surface. He went first, lifting himself to the top of the waves and pulling her up after him. Cassandra found she was completely dry as she stepped onto the surface again, as if she had never entered the water at all. The sheer force of everything that had already happened forced her to look up at his kindly face again and wonder just how he was doing all that he was, but he did not give her a chance to ponder for long.

A few feet ahead of them a ring of water began to bubble before it shot skyward like a geyser. A few seconds later another ring of bubbles was visible before there came another eruption. And another and another. As Cassandra's eyes darted between them, Jesus looked to her again and made a motion towards the geysers with his head and neck, as if saying they would be approaching them. The moment she could guess that was his intent, he took off running, pulling her along with him. It took Cassandra only a moment to catch up as she wondered what he could be trying to accomplish as they ran towards what looked to be hundreds of rings of bubbles all in a line before them.

And then they jumped.

Cassandra found both of their feet landed solidly atop the blast of water as it shot towards the heavens, completely supporting their weight. This time he did not give her a chance to comprehend, he instead just kept jumping. They leaped from geyser to geyser, ascending higher with each one. With each eruption of water the two sprung into the skies, once in a while the geyser changing color in the middle of its blast, back to the gold or ruby Cassandra had already seen. Each geyser brought them closer to the sky, and though she did not find herself short of breath, Cassandra knew they would surely reach the clouds at the speed they were moving. Maybe it _should_ be much farther, but they seemed so close as they continued to bound towards them. Every geyser held only as long as they stood upon them, collapsing and falling back into the ocean thereafter. At one point in their ascension, the geysers finally came to an end and the two were left perched atop the last one from the line, the pillar of water below their feet refusing to dissipate like its brethren. From there, Cassandra could easily look down and see how high they had trekked. The beach they had begun upon had long disappeared, now only the ocean remained beneath them, the sight utterly dwarfing any height she had ever seen or imagined before. She turned towards Jesus, mouth agape, unsure if he would let her absorb the moment or would go on with something even grander.

With his next motion, the blue sky disappeared. In its place the heavens colored themselves as a massive, glittering expanse of light of all colors. The atmosphere looked entirely overtaken with aurora borealis, luminosities of all shades and tints streaming through the clouds and downwards towards earth and ocean below. But again, he did not give Cassandra long to absorb the incandescence, instead leading her to the edge of the geyser and taking a jump.

Cassandra was sure she trusted him at this point, but she could not shake that jumping from such a height seemed completely insane. Still, she didn't have much time to wonder how they would land, as their feet fell properly upon the clouds. This time, without even a look of reassurance, Jesus proceeded forward. Cassandra found the clouds were slick like ice, and instead of walking, the two were sliding and skating across them, every movement building on the last as they skated faster and faster as the sky full of color shined unto them. The skating seemed to change, becoming something more purposeful on Jesus's part, as if he was leading her in a dance. The two of them spun and leapt across the ice-like clouds, both keeping their hands clasped to one another as tight as they possibly could. As the sky shimmered like an endless sea of brilliant gems, Jesus led her to the edge of their cloud and took another jump.

This time, nothing caught them immediately. But Cassandra did not care. She was laughing too hard, tears of joy and wonder streaming down her cheeks as they fell farther and farther towards the earth again. He would surely do something to keep them safe, she knew it.

Throughout the times of maddening danger she had just experienced, Christ had protected her.

And indeed, when they came nearly to the earth (relatively speaking), winds began to pick up from the island below, which Cassandra was sure was not there when they had begun. Gusts of wind blasted from beneath them, as if a tornado was raging and, indeed, the squalls began to soften their fall. By the time they reached the ground, the billowing gale had settled their descent to the point of safety and it too dissipated as their bare feet met dirt.

At first there was nothing to speak of upon the island, but the instant they touched the ground blades of grass and flowers seemed to spring up to meet them. And from there with every step they took another line of plants of every shape and color seemed to appear with their movements, until even bushes and trees seemed to spawn forth as they continued towards the beach again. Like everything else that seemed to come of Jesus, the plants were of all different kinds of kinds. Red grass produced green roses, the layers of bark upon the trees sometimes alternated between purple and pink, and each individual leaf shown a different shade, no two exactly alike, and all of them seemed to bow in reverence towards the King of Kings.

When the two at last reached another beach, Jesus pointed with his hand at the indentions made in the sand, which Cassandra recognized as footprints. They surely were not the same as the ones as they had made earlier, as they did not lead into the ocean, and yet when he led her to them, she found his feet fell perfectly into place with them, as did hers, as if they could be the only two people who made the prints.

With Jesus still at the lead, the two walked upon the footprints, which seemed to perfectly predict the steps they would take. Cassandra had to purposely shorten her stride to not fit into the footprint she had apparently made, but when she moved naturally, they all lined up. And as they walked upon the footprints, it felt as if her mind was flooded with memories.

She saw recent ones first. The attack on the asylum, hearing Stephanie describe the passion, saving Monsignor Ryan from the criminals… But with every step she moved back farther. Good memories and bad ones returned to her. She remembered her confrontations with her mother that had nearly killed her. She remembered the news that Stephanie was still alive. She remembered the nights out, patrolling with Tim and Bruce. She remembered the aftershock of the earthquake, and the first time she had worn her costume.

At that point however, she looked down and noticed the two sets of footprints vanished, only the larger ones that belonged to Jesus remained. When she turned to him, confused, he at long last relinquished his grip, only for a moment, and swept her up, holding and cradling the girl in his arms for a moment before he continued forward again. Cassandra had not at all expected it, but she did not object.

As he continued to walk in his own footprints, the memories again returned to her. Thoughts of cold, dark nights all alone on the streets. Thoughts of scavaging for food, struggling to do or ask for anything without being able to speak. She saw her father in her memories, the guns and knives he had kept strewn about. She became fearful as Jesus continued down the path, wondering if she could plead him to stop, but unsure if she could dare question his will after everything she had already seen him do.

It didn't matter. One memory gave way to others, and she began to cling to the shirt he wore, trying her very hardest to not reflect on the one thing she knew he was coming to,

For a moment she felt she was neither on the beach nor in the church. For a split second she was a tiny girl in a pink dress, her hands covered in blood and starring at a great, bald man as he struggled to take a breath.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come, but she was already sobbing into the soft material of Jesus's shirt, choking with her breaths a little and trying to force the evil memory of her youth away. The one stain upon her life she felt she could never be free of. The singular instant all other things in her life had become dedicated to undoing. The memory broke her as she sobbed and sobbed, Jesus, in another show of strength, supporting her with only one arm as her raised a hand to her face and helped to wipe away the tears, combing through her hair a little thereafter.

Whether it was minutes or hours she cried into him she was not sure, as time seemed to have no meaning within that place, but finally she managed to regain a little of her composure. Jesus set her down upon the ground, a reassuring hand on her shoulder as their eyes met yet again.

Slowly and quietly, new images and sounds seemed to enter her mind. Little flashes of Jesus in cities of ancient, preaching the words Stephanie had read. His voice was mighty and resonant, and everything he said seemed to pierce the weakness she now felt.

_"__It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."_  
_ "__And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins. "_

_ "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."_

_ "Amen, I say to you, today you will be with you in paradise."_

_ "As the father loves me, so I also love you."_

For the first time in her life, it felt like the pain had finally been released and was now streaming down her cheeks. She sobbed in both sadness and joy into him. Though she could not erase what she had done, for the first time it seemed she could do more than acknowledge it, as if Jesus had granted her permission to finally accept it, and accept that it did not define who she was. The constant battles against the world's evils now did not seem as much as attempts at redemption she realized, they were her nature. She had fought so long and so hard for what she thought was an attempt to make amends for a destruction within herself, but it was her father's teaching that made her defy that state.

Somehow, someway, the words he had spoken and his appearance before her had dealt a blow to the guilt she had carried so long. So this was what forgiveness really felt like.

She fell into him, tears still streaming down her cheeks but a smile across her face as she hugged him close. Jesus did likewise, bringing her into him with one hand patting her back and another running through her hair. In that moment a last memory, her favorite memory, returned to her. How could she have not noticed it wasn't amongst those she had seen when walking on the beach?

_"If you'll let me, when we get back to Gotham… I'd like to start adoption proceedings. You're one of us Cassandra. You always have been, and I'm sorry I didn't let you know it sooner. Now I want to make sure you'll always have a real family as long as I'm around."_

As Jesus lowered his second hand to her back, she realized his hug was identical to the one she had shared with Bruce. It could not be simple coincidence, it was an assurance. A promise of family, of love, and of never going away.

She looked him in the eyes one final time on that beach, as they ended just the way they had begun. His eyes begged, _Trust me_.

And this time, without any second thought or hesitation, hers swore, _I do_.

…

"Cassie? Hey, Cassie?"

Cassandra's eyes opened again and she found herself back in the warm, comfortable church, Tim sitting next to her.

"Hey, I think we both dozed a little there… Have you been crying?" She brought a hand to her eyes to find them wet again, but she knew it was something more than sadness that had brought them on. "Are you alright?"

"Yes Tim… Oh God yes!"


	23. Chapter 23

"I just want you to be prepared Miss Cassandra. I really don't think that Master Wayne is going to approve."

"I feel new Alfred. I feel changed. I love Bruce and his work, but I do not think I like all the black anymore. Or the fear. I want to spread hope."

"Master Wayne _does_ spread hope Cassandra. The fear is only in the minds of his opposition. And no matter what you do, if you're going to do battle with them, they will come to fear you. Even Superman strikes terror into the minds of his enemies."

"I feel like I could do more. That I _want_ to do more."

"And I'm sure Master Wayne would find that more than admirable, but he cares for you too much to approve of something like this. What you're suggesting here strikes me as a very bad idea. Particularly in this line of work."

Cassandra and Alfred sat before the Batcave's largest monitor as Alfred moused over Bruce's custom costume software. Various stats and notes sat in the lower right hand corner of the screen, but in the center there sat a heavily remodeled version of Cassandra's batsuit. What had been black was now pure white, only interrupted by the symbol, a few contours denoting armor and a sweeping lavender cape. Cassandra's mask had been reduced to the "domino" style, only covering her eyes. She wished to appear more caring, style her uniform more in line with her attitude. The desire had always been there, but the encounter at Adoration had firmly brought it to the forefront.

"Can the symbol look like it is made of glass?" She asked. "Stained glass?"

Alfred gave her a look and opened a text box on the computer. "I do not think there is a program for that at the time. Seems a touch excessive, but I suppose it isn't up to me… Keeping the yellow?" She nodded and he typed up the note.

"And a cross through the center," She added finally.

"Remind me to start teaching you about subtlety," Alfred muttered sarcastically. "Well, I suppose that covers it. I'll let Master Wayne know this was your suggestion, but like I said, I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"I have to try," Cassandra said. "Things are different. _I_ am different."

"And I suppose this isn't much of a Batgirl uniform anymore, now is it," Alfred mused. "Are you going to suggest a new title for yourself as well?"

"I have thought about it," Cassandra said. "Angels are the servants of God, correct?"

"Yes Cassandra, they are, but our friend The Seraphim seems to have taken those titles all for himself."

"He disgraces them. What is pure and beautiful is corrupted by his work… And someone has to redeem them."

"Well, I suppose there are few more Christian concepts than redemption," Alfred replied.

"But I cannot abandon my history. This, all of you, are still my family. I feel new, but most of me remains. I am old and new both."

"So then I suppose that would make you…?"

"The Angel of the Bat."

[[Author's Note:

So this basically functions as the end of the first arc in this story. We're kinda-sorta-halfway through, though I do not know what the length of part two will be compared with part one. The details and conflicts are going to shift a little from here, now that Cassandra _has_ theoretically converted. There is of course a lot more formality to becoming a Catholic than has been shown, but the arc concerning her discovery and eventual conversion to Christianity is over with now. She believes in God and Christ as her savior which, as we're going to see, creates some new conflicts to deal with.

I feel a need to write this author's note because as well and good as all that sounds, I wanted to give the warning that before too much longer, this thing is going to get _a lot_ darker. More questions are going to be asked and answers aren't necessarily going to be there. Friendships and loyalties are going to be tested, ideas called into question and beliefs challenged. By the time this is over, I do intend to have The Seraphim's "Power and Glory" on full display, and rest assured, I've barely scratched the surface of the guy…

I say this because I know I do have some genuinely religious readers out there who have, it seems, look at this story as an affirmation of their beliefs. And I'm very happy to have given all of you that, but from here on out, I can't promise it's going to stay that way. This isn't a reflection on a recent event or anything, this was planned from the very beginning. But simply put: if you don't want to feel challenged, you might not want to read on.

I, however, consider anything in this world that is wonderful to be worth discussing and even challenging once in a while, so that will be the direction I continue in.

Thank you all so much for the support throughout this first arc as work begins on arc two. And, with all that creepy, mysterious talk out of the way, let me try and leave on a good note:

"T'was Grace that taught my heart to fear. And Grace, my fears relieved. _How precious did that Grace appear_. _The hour I first believed_."


	24. One Shot: The Burning One

[Well, I said part two was going to be pretty different from part one. So here's the first step into that. It's not going to be the only "One Shot" either]

One Shot: The Burning One

"I'm going to be straight with you doctor. I don't believe in psychology."

Dr. Joan Leland sighed and rolled her eyes, she'd never heard that one before. "Well, You can't see much harm in giving it a try, can you Mr. Lebowitz?"

"Daniel is fine," he snapped. "I don't like Lebowitz. It makes me sound like a Shylock."

Leland had to mentally roll her eyes as she looked down at the man seated across from her. Curly black hair falling freely over his off-white skin, glasses covering his brown eyes and resting on a slightly oversized nose: how could anyone be so stereotypical and self-hating at the same time.

"Some people find that term offensive you know Daniel," she said.

"The Jews have a lot to answer for before they can start being offended by anything," he sneered. "That's why my brother told you bastards to lock me up. He can't stand me and he can't stand nobody talking truth in his house."

"You lived with your brother then?" Leland asked.

"Had to. Nobody rents me apartments anymore."

"I see… Any particular reason for that Daniel?"

"None that you need to know about."

"I see…"

"Josh told me I had to clean up my act, that I couldn't keep acting out of turn and saying God told me to do it. The guy's an idiot, doc. He's a smartass, he never goes to church, and he thinks he knows what's best for me."

"I take it you're a pretty devout person then?" Leland asked.

"Hand to God."

…

Daniel did not make conversation with anyone else in his first week at Arkham Asylum, speaking only to request his meals, usually sausage with breakfast and ham in some variety with dinner. The other inmates watched him a peculiar curiosity as he prayed before each meal and then ate in silence. No one tried speaking to him until the morning of his ninth day, when two burly men sat on either side of him, the lanky man exchanging looks at the both of them.

"Lebowitz right?" One of them asked mockingly. "Awfully kosher name for such an unkosher meal," and then snatched up one of his sausages and taking a bite.

"Convenient," Daniel said irritably. "I don't eat kosher."

"Oooh, hear that Don? We got ourselves a rebel here," his companion chuckled. "Listen up then pal, cause we have got a hell of a deal for you."

"…"

"There are things you gotta know about Arkham Asylum, and one of the first is this: You aren't safe sittin' here alone. You wanna look around this room? Nearly everyone here has sworn some kinda allegiance."

"Yeah. Two-Face, Cobblepot, Sionis, they all got guys doing time for em' in here. Everyone knows it. There are agents, double agents, triple agents… But everybody's got a boss, and if you don't, you're not gonna live very long."

"So who's your boss?" Daniel asked with a glare. The one called Don chuckled and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his upper arm depicting a laughing clown.

"Mister J. himself," he said. "No finer security in this pit, 'specially since he's here most of the time. They got him in extreme isolation, I give it a week before he shows up topside and pays us a visit."

"I'm not looking for security," Daniel said, stabbing and eating his remaining sausage before either of them could try and get at it. "I have all the protection I need."

"Yeah? You must think you're Danny boy in the lion pit right now. You think God's gonna shut me up and leave you alone?" Daniel gripped the sides of his tray, as if he was about to leave. "Well God's not here right now kid. You wanna shut me up, you do it yourself."

Daniel reacted as if he'd been offered an invitation, rising and smashing the man upside the face with his tray, knocking him out of his seat and onto the ground. Before either man could react, he pushed himself to his feet and began kicking him over and over in the fact, quickly drawing blood and knocking out at least one tooth. After a delayed reaction, Don realized what was happening and jumped to his feet, grabbing Daniel from behind and securing his arms. He struggled violently, trying to stomp on Don's foot and giving him a backwards headbutt at one point, but it was enough that his companion could get to his feet.

"Big mistake kid. Big mistake."

…

"I'm very sorry to hear about your fight in the cafeteria. I hope they won't bother you again."

"Shut up Leland."

The doctor again sighed. There was truly no looking forward to speaking to this patient. He rarely offered even caveats of information about himself or his condition and continued to deny any fault or responsibility. His left eye and cheek were now swollen from the beating he endured in the cafeteria, the medical team confirming a number of bruises on his chest.

"Well, if you wouldn't like to talk about that, what would you like to talk about?"

"I don't like to talk about much of anything."

"Well, we have to fill up your quota of communication and therapy somehow… Are you feeling any better about talking about your childhood maybe?"

"My childhood was one of disillusionment. I hate it."

"Disillusionment? How so?"

"I was raised an agnostic Jew, Leland. You have no idea how much shame it brings me to say that."

Leland took particular note of this on her notebook before saying, "Maybe we're finally getting somewhere. Why do you consider that shameful?"

"It is an affront on both sides. The Jews lost their favor two millennia ago. The best of them converted after the coming of Christ, the rest of them continue to live with his holy blood on their hands."

"Well… That's not an unpopular opinion, but you may be one of the first patients I've seen who put it like that."

"But at least the Orthodox have ideas to keep. At least they were given guidance and directive… Agnostic Jews are driven by their own sense of self-fulfillment, Doctor. They keep and hold once-sacred ideals and warp them into something foul and egotistical. They're a step away from Satanists, if even that."

"That's quite an assertion Daniel…"

"I'm not one of these idiots who thinks Satanists are actually about to summon a monster and kill us all or any of that crap either. No, Satanists are repugnant little trolls who just want to annoy and scratch at the moral fiber of good, hardworking religious people, and that's bad enough."

"Hm. When did you become so interested in religion as a topic? You said yourself you were raised agnostic."

"My father came home from work one day… I remember his smile seemed forced, something seemed off about him. He said he had made a great decision for the family. He had an epiphany while he was away at the office, that he had discovered something of true worth and beauty. He said we were all going to start attending church. That it was time we started accepting the lord Jesus Christ as our savior. My mother didn't object, though she did find it questionable."

"Do you know anything more about what happened that day? Did your parents tell you anything later?"

"Of course I know what happened that day. The church didn't try and hide it when I asked them."

…

"Hello there Jacob, take a seat."

"How are you doing today Mr. Harper?"

"Fine Jacob, fine. Let me introduce you to an old friend of mine."

Jacob Lebowitz had already noticed the back haired man seated across from him, perhaps Native American in ancestry, and wearing a warm smile.

"Hello Jacob. My name is Joseph Blackfire." The two shook hands for a moment as Mr. Harper made his way towards the door, locking it before Jacob could notice. Just after their hands met Blackfire's grip grew tighter until he seemed to be crushing the man's hand. "And I want to talk to you about your salvation."

…

"Deacon Blackfire was a harsh critic of my family's lack of faith. My mother was told he was going away on an impromptu business meeting for the next two weeks. She probably wouldn't have bought it, but the company had a nice sum for her." Daniel paused and sneered, "What's there to say? Dirty Jews love dirty money."

"I see," Laland said, the grip on her pen growing tighter and tighter as she struggled to not beat the lanky inmate sitting before her.

"When the time passed my father came home. And he said he had wonderful news for the family. He'd discovered Jesus, like our ancient ancestors he had finally found the awe and beauty of God, and he simply couldn't keep something so wonderful to himself. We were all to start going to church. He had seen the light."

…

"I hate you Josh."

"Yeah? I knew it was too soon to try coming to see you. I'm doing this because I care about you Dan."

"I hate being here Josh. I hate all these people. I don't belong here. I just want to go back to church."

"Yeah? You wanna go back to church, you finish up in here and you go to whatever other church you want. I don't care."

"I don't want to go to another church Josh. I want to go back where I belong. And sooner or later, they're going to break me out."

"You keep telling yourself that Dan… I made a promise to Mom and Dad that I would take care of you."

"So you lock me up in this cardboard hole?! Screw off Josh, you were trying to get rid of me. One less mouth to feed, damn dirty Jew."

"I'd have kicked you out for that crap years ago if I wasn't so scared for your safety… But after what you did to that kid, you need help. A lot of help."

"I was saving her, Josh. Just like they taught us to do. A little pain is a small sacrifice for eternal salvation. And if her parents knew how to raise her she wouldn't have needed me to do it anyway."

"Wish I could bring better news back with me. I'll see you in a few weeks Dan. I hope you get the help you need. And soon."

…

"Are you aware that Deacon Blackfire was killed several years ago? Was he still considered a religious leader in your church?" Dr. Leland asked.

"The Church of the Voice of God excommunicated him after we came to believe his works were witchcraft rather than actual miracles. His tactics, however, have always proved useful." He replied.

"His tactics, Daniel?" She said, raising an eyebrow.

"Sometimes suffering is necessary to experience revelation. That's what we were taught. It wasn't Blackfire's idea, it is a much older cornerstone."

"But what did such tactics entail, Daniel?" Leland continued trying to pry.

"Taking of herbs and medicines, sometimes long fasts and separation from sleep. My brother and I experienced many of them, but only I was changed by what happened. Only I beheld God's glory when all was said and done."

It was now that Doctor Leland was growing fearful. The tactics of Joseph Blackfire had been studied within Arkham since his attack and the way he seemed capable of inducing madness. From Daniel's story, such methods could have been introduced to him as a child. Now there was no question as to why his mind seemed so far away.

"Daniel… Local authorities need to talk to that church of yours… You make it sound as if some very illegal activities are going on within."

And for a rare moment, Daniel starred at her through his glasses, directly in the eyes. "The Lord has prepared them a mighty fortress. You will never find it, and never penetrate it."

…

The door to Arkham's minimal-security cafeteria came bursting open on that day over a month after Daniel Lebowitz had been admitted. The man stepping through had a spring in his step and a smile on his face… Whether he liked it or not.

Every body in the room clenched when he stepped in, garbed not in the higher-security orange, but in a flamboyant suit of purple and green. His eyes scanned the room as he let out a boisterous laugh.

"Well, mission accomplished ladies and gentlemen!" He announced. "I've got the clearance to just walk right out of here!" He reached into his suit jacket for a moment, revealing a remote control. "Warden said I just had to hand over the control at the front door. Smart guy, considering it's the only thing keeping Joker gas from flooding the homes of half the staff, ha ha ha!" Silence held in the cafeteria, which only served to annoy him further. "But I suppose I have some unfinished business here first," he continued, reaching into his jacket again.

Before anyone could react he pulled a pistol from one of his inside pockets and shot one of the women serving lunch. Screams overtook the room as staff and inmates alike began to duck under tables, security guards yelling to try and remain calm.

"Brenda, your meatloaf was atrocious." Joker said. He turned towards one of the horrified inmates ducked under the table and again pulled the trigger, everyone now running out the door as fast as they possibly could. "Alex, I once saw you steal an extra package of cream cheese. One per person! And you!" he shouted, turning the gun on one of the last inmates trying to push through the crowds, this one a young Latino. "Well Pedro… Frankly I never liked you." And fired at him as well, letting his horrific laugh fill he room.

Only a handful of men remained as alarms were sounded all through the asylum, Joker sighing and saying, "Well great, now I've got to speed things up," before approaching a half dozen of his employees (including the ones who had been injured in the scrimmage) and Daniel himself, unfazed by the whole ordeal and still eating his BLT.

"Well well well," Joker mused. "What do we have here? Is he a new recruit?"

"No," Don said bitterly. "He's the one who attacked us."

"Ooooh," the Joker said, fascinated. "You're the brave little boy huh? What'd you say his name was?"

"Daniel Lebowitz, sir."

Joker pulled up the chair sitting across from Daniel, who still did not look up. "You've got some real stones kid," Joker said. "Guess you've seen a lot of people die."

"I have," Daniel replied, still not looking up. "The church teaches you a lot."

"You're a religious kid huh?" Joker asked. "Never liked it much myself, too many rules. I mean, I'm more than happy to bash in Heather and her two mommies' heads, but it's when you tell me I can't go for the nuclears that you start sucking out all the fun."

Daniel said nothing in reply, which seemed to agitate the Joker. "That reference fly over your head Danny boy? That was a book. It was published in '89, featured these two-"

"I understood the reference," Daniel replied in monotone. "I didn't think it was funny."

"Oh what a bright, progressive citizen you are," Joker said bitterly. "So what, you don't think killing gay people is funny?"

"There is nothing funny about doing God's work," Daniel said solemnly.

Joker starred at him, stunned, for several seconds before turning to look at his goons, his anger now greater than ever. After the silence, he looked back down at Daniel. "You don't want to cross me kid."

Daniel accepted his challenge. "Or else what?"

With a nod two of Joker's goons slammed and pinned Daniel's arms to the table, Don standing just behind him and smashing his face in too, shattering the lenses of his glasses as he cried out in pain, struggling to overpower them. Joker produced a switchblade from one of his pockets, lowering it so Daniel could get a good look at the tip. "Because when you cross me," he grabbed Daniel by his hair and jerked his face so that the right side remained pressed against the table. "I cross back."

With two deep gashes and several roars of agony, Joker tossed the bloody knife aside and motioned to his men to follow him out the door as Daniel fainted, blood pouring down the freshly made cross shaped scar now consuming his left cheek.

…

"Daniel… Daniel, it's time to wake up."

As soon as his eyes opened his hands were at his cheek, clenching the cross carving as he squinted his eyes. It was dark in his room, but he could make out three figures standing over him, garbed all in white. How they had evaded security he did not know.

"What… What do you want?" He asked weakly.

"We're taking you back to the church Daniel. Your training is now complete. We always knew you could do it."

"My… My training?"

"Yes Daniel. We had to do it, to truly unlock your potential you had to be put to the test. We let you be within Arkham for forty days and forty nights, just as Christ remained in the desert. But your dedication is surely unwavering."

"Yes sire… Unwavering."

Daniel pushed himself from his bed only to fall to his knees before the three figures in white. "Lead me out then. We have much work to do."

…

"You just saw the video of those three in his room, but there's no footage at all of how they got in or out."

It was here that Bruce's summary and collection of surveillance clips from Arkham came to an end, Cassandra, Tim and Dick looking at him, perplexed.

"There's gotta be more to it than that," Dick said. "It sounded like his parents died somewhere in there, may or may not have been the cult's fault…"

"It's a lot to try and accept," Bruce remarked. "And there is still much more we don't know. But it is as I feared, The Church of the Voice uses Blackfire's methods of conversion and insanity inducement… And having been through those effects myself, I'm very worried for all of you. He only wants to kill me, I fear he has worse plans for you."

"He can go ahead and try," Tim goaded. "The guy's out of his mind. He apparently was years before he put on the stupid costume."

"I haven't decided what our next course of action should be yet," Bruce said, turning back to his work. "Rest assured though, we'll catch up with him. I'll let you know when things are in place."

Tim and Dick made their way out of the cave, casually joking as they walked towards the elevator. Cassandra, however, remained and, taking a deep breath, approached her father.

"I had a few ideas about my costume…"


	25. Chapter 24

"He shot it down huh? Alfred didn't rub it in, did he?" Stephanie asked.

"No. Alfred isn't like that," Cassandra sighed.

"Well, I'm still sorry it didn't work out. But you know, function over form and all that... I say as I prepare to pull a black sock over my head. Maybe I need to consider a change of costume too. At least I'm not under such strict watch."

"For better or worse."

As Alfred had predicted, Bruce had not approved of the design Cassandra had suggested, nor had he begun calling her by her new, preferred title. It wasn't as if he'd been dismissive, at least not so much towards _Cassandra_ as he was _Batgirl_.

"I'm proud of you for coming to this decision on your own," he had said. "And I'm glad you found what you were looking for. I'll drive you to Michael's on Sunday mornings and I'll see if I can't find you a sponsor so you can finish with a proper conversion, I don't think Tim is eligible. But you're also still going out in uniform. You're one of my allies when you're wearing the suit and you're one of my children underneath it. And as such I will not allow you to make a living target out of yourself dressed all in white like this."

"But Bruce," she had objected. "I feel changed. I want to wear that change. I want to be inspiring."

"When bullets can bounce off your chest and your only weakness is a shard of radioactive meteorite you're allowed to be inspiring instead of practical," Bruce said. "And even then I'm not saying I'd allow it for you. You wear that cross in the symbol you're displaying a weakness."

"It is not a weakness!" This had offended her.

"Not to any decent person," Bruce replied. "But you saw what The Joker did when he so much as heard about The Seraphim's faith."

Cassandra was frozen and perplexed by this. "Are you comparing us?"

"No Cassandra, I know you're different from him. You could hardly be more different from him. But it gives you a label. And in Gotham, my label is the only one that's going to keep you safe... Or at least the only one I trust to keep you safe."

Cassandra had forgiven the first encounter after Bruce had been true to his word and driven her to church that Sunday morning. Still, she had partaken in small acts of rebellion to loosen her frustration, the most prominent being cutting the rest of her lower face out of her cowl. Bruce, ordinarily stingy about unauthorized costume modifications, only said, "You need to cut another half inch off your hair before I'll let you wear the domino mask. Wouldn't want you getting pulled around by it."

"I'm pretty sure I've had longer than that before," Tim chuckled.

"She's better at following rules than you are."

"It's almost too bad he has your papers, huh?" Stephanie said. "Not like he tells Huntress to not wear crosses or anything… Gotta admit thought, I've always wondered if showing all that skin kinda cancels it out… Sorry, I got sidetracked. I'm sure he's just trying to be a good parent. Overprotective, but good."

"Guess I do not know much of that," Cassandra admitted.

"Never thought I'd say this, but I'd trade you on the Dad territory." The two laughed as Stephanie finally pulled on her mask as Cassandra's transmitter sparked to life.

"Apparently we're not the only ones trying to run The Seraphim out of Gotham," Bruce began. "I'm only patching through to you. Don't speak too loud."

"Why?" Cassandra asked, though he didn't address her immediately.

"Oracle's been monitoring the contracts being put through right now. Penguin, Black Mask, Elliot, they're all putting price-tags on his cult."

"Since when does Hush just start hiring assassins?" Tim demanded, possibly from the opposite side of the city. "He's not even in the country right now, last we heard anyway."

"He doesn't want anyone else having the chance to kill me, if I had to guess," Bruce replied. "Regardless, Batgirl, we've confirmed one of the assassins, codenamed Scarab, is only a few blocks from you. She and Spoiler have a rather… Unfortunate past. And I think getting a chance to face her again would do her some good."

"Did you see-"

"Neither Cain nor Shiva was mentioned in any of the contracts… Rest assured, if they turn up, you will be the first to know." Bruce interrupted. "I'd give you assistance with Scarab, but someone apparently has access to some of Deadshot's information. And if he can be brought here so can the rest of the Suicide Squad. Being caught in the middle of _that_ crossfire may be the only way I can picture this getting worse."

"Understood." Cassandra said.

"What's understood?" Stephanie asked.

Cassandra already knew what was expected. "I do not think Spoiler heard you."

"Sorry. I'm sending you two over to the courthouse tonight. Some of Gotham's elite are hiring outside help to try and deal with The Seraphim. According to what Oracle managed to dig up, The Scarab has a watchful eye on The Stacked Deck."

"Scarab?!" Stephanie demanded. "Good to know she's back for round two."

"Don't do anything rash. Remember, this about showing them that our way wins, no matter what they try and pull."

"Oh I'll be sure of it," She replied. "That's in the bowery, right?" She turned to Batgirl. "Let's go then."

By rooftops the two travelled into the dark and seedy bowery, Spoiler quiet and focused at first, but as if disarmed by the time it was taking to arrive, questioned, "What would Scarab be doing out at a crappy bar like The Stacked Deck anyway?"

"Not her," Batgirl pointed out. "The Seraphim's men. The bowery is full of crime and many vices. Drugs, prostitution, vices are sinful."

She was surprised by this, "Wow, you really are a fast learner, huh?"

"Actually The Monsignor said that on Sunday. I borrowed." They both laughed as they continued through the night.

"But that's going good for you, isn't it?" Spoiler asked. "You really are glad to be going, aren't you?"

"I do not understand everything. But I love the closeness. And the music."

"Well, good for you," she said. "Glad to see all that reading paid off… And hey, I know you're still disappointed about the costume, but I think the idea really kicked ass. You could have worn it well."

"Thank you." They went quiet for a few minutes then, closing in on the bowery before she added, "I did not eat the host. Tim told me not to yet."

"The host…? Oh right, right, the bread, yeah." Spoiler said. "Well, like Bats said, you're better at following rules than he is. Nice job… Okay, there it is. Let's see what we can see."

The two halted their journey across the rooftops on a long-closed, dilapidated old building just across the street from the lively but no less filthy Stacked Deck club. The two hunched over in the darkness, starring towards the club as sharp-dressed men and scantily dressed prostitutes cycled through the club's doors. There was talk and commotion, but nothing out of the ordinary (for the club's reputation) yet. After around half an hour, the two were hardly paying attention when a portly blonde haired businessman and his even blonder female escort stepped out of the club and walked past the adjacent alley.

The blast of bullets overtook the night air, the man and his escort both screaming and ducking for cover as there echoed more cries of agony from within the alley. Batgirl and Spoiler both starred in disbelief for a moment before realizing that the shots had to have been fired from within the building they were waiting upon.

"I don't know how much of that is dumb luck and how much of it is just dumb," Spoiler said, running towards the staircase, "All I know is I've got a score to settle! Go see what's going on across the street!"

Cassandra would have, but Bruce's words about keeping Stephanie from doing anything rash echoed in her mind. She looked towards the still darkened alley, made a quick sign of the cross, and followed after her friend, resolving to investigate the alley shortly thereafter.

As Batgirl followed her into the building, where Scarab had already turned to face them. Dressed all in tight-fitting black, golden decorations covering her insectoid mask and three oversized gun barrels strapped to her gloves, the assassin turned to them slowly, as if satisfying the moment.

"No need to compliment my skill. It was hardly fair when I have the night vision I do."

"Wasn't planning on it," Spoiler said, stepping forward. "We have a score to settle."

"Don't put that off on me kid. I did my best, but if anyone killed bird-boy, it wasn't me. The blonde imposter cost me that job."

"Funny you should mention her," Spoiler replied, and Cassandra could sense just how she was scowling under the mask. "And funny you should call her an imposter…"

Neither of them broke their stare for a few seconds, as if waiting for one to say something more. As the quiet filled the space, it was ultimately Batgirl who broke it. Not by suggesting either do anything, but instead glancing out the shattered window behind Scarab, rushing into Spoiler and yelling, "Look out!"

A moment after she tackled her there was a monstrous eruption, blasting Scarab into the opposite wall with a cry of pain. The two girls quickly pushed back to their feet, Spoiler remarking, "Okay, great work. Thanks for that."

"No trouble." Batgirl replied. "Scarab is yours. I will disarm them."

"And thanks for that too!" She added, running towards her long awaited rematch.

Batgirl, meanwhile, ran across the street, throwing batarangs at the bloodied members of The Seraphim's cult as they struggled to reload their rocket launcher, slashing into several hands and forcing the group's heavy to drop the launcher. As the man and woman who had narrowly avoided the crossfire sprinted in opposite directions, one of the shorter members started shouting at his companions. "Wake up! You're letting them get away!" And drew a pistol from his side, pointing towards the woman. "Whatever, that tramp isn't getting away on my watch!"

Cassandra managed to close the distance between herself and the gunman and thrust a palm into his back, knocking him to the ground as she whirled around, scanning her opponents and watching as they fell upon her. Her movements were tight and precise as ever, dodging punches and the swinging of knives and delivering a kick to the hands of any of the men who went for their guns. As she did, one of the stories she had read with Stephanie went running through her head, and she could not help but feel empowered, even smiling as she began to paraphrase.

"The corrupted teachers brought a woman to Jesus," she said, unable to remember how to pronounce _Pharisee _but remembering how Stephanie had described them. "They said she was adulterous."

"What the hell is she saying?" One of them demanded before she shuffled in and kicked him in the side as he attempted to slide into a pair of brass knuckles following the attack with another kick to his head, knocking him backwards and leaving him dizzy.

Batgirl spoke up. "The law said that she should be killed. But Jesus said it should be the one of them who had never sinned who should do it. And none of them were able."

"That's adorable you little brat," the heavy sneered. "But it's also ignorant."

Cassandra elbowed two more of his men standing just behind her, leaving the two of them alone. By now screams filled the bar, patrons questioning whether they should dare take a step outside or if they were safer within. Gunshots filled the abandoned building across the street, and, upon remembering her promise to Batman, resolved to finish the battle quickly.

"You can't win this fight kid. Even quoting John's not going to do you any good," he stated simply, clenching his fist and taking a battle stance, his left arm raised to his face and his right down towards his waist. "God gave us this city to conquer. God gave us this city to destroy!"

Batgirl had already known exactly what he was going to do before he had even completed taking the stance. She already knew he had a gun slung on the belt, the stance was just a distraction. She rushed forward, dropped to one knee and tripped him, forcing him off balance as he landed backwards and his head collided with the ground. He drew the gun but Cassandra kicked it out of his hand, grabbed and lifted him up by his shirt, and looked him in the eyes.

"You're wrong." She said. "God gave me this city to save."

Instead of knocking him unconscious right then, she held onto the glare for a little longer, as the man's look of determination slowly turned, first to doubt, then to fear. Within thirty seconds she released him, first kicking away the gun when he reached for it, then repeatedly punching him in the stomach as he tried to grab the rocket launcher. Try as he may, the large man couldn't land a single punch between her ducks and weaves. She was reading his movements better than ever, but along with that, her confidence had never been so high.

With another flurry of punches and a kick to the gut, the increasingly horrified man yelled, "Screw this!" And ran down the alley, tearing his cellphone from his belt and throwing it against the wall.

Satisfied with the collection on unconscious bodies, Batgirl ran across the street, grateful to see the reds and blues of the GCPD rapidly approaching. Spoiler and Scarab were exchanging blows, mostly across the face, both stopping once in a while to alter their maneuvers. Spoiler jumped backwards and drew her grappling hook, firing forward just in time to latch onto the barrels latched onto her gloved fist and tear them off with a quick tug. Scarab swore as she reached into the pouches on her belt and drew out several smoke bombs, tossing them to the ground in an attempt to cloud her escape.

"We'll finish this another day, child," she sneered. "I can hardly believe it's you. Voice is identical, fighting style similar but more polished… And then there's what Black Mask said he did to you."

The anger that Cassandra has sense exploded with the mention of Black Mask. In spite of the smoke screen, Spoiler lunged at her opponent and, even to Batgirl's surprise, caught her, tackling her and taking her to the ground. Scarab cried out in pain and tried to struggle as, now disarmed and held to the ground by the shaking Spoiler, she began to lay into her face. The first few punches clanged against the metallic of the mask before she managed to tear it off and resume her assault.

"You think that's _funny_?!" She demanded. "You can laugh all day about how you got me fired, but don't! You! _Dare!_ Laugh at what he did!"

Scarab's nose had already been broken, blood oozing down her face with every blow as her struggle lessened, Spoiler shaking in anger. She surely would have continued if Batgirl hadn't grabbed her arm before she could land another blow. "Stop!" She commanded. "Batman said to keep calm."

"Batman didn't just have one of his skeletons dragged out of the closet!" Spoiler cried.

"Please," Batgirl tried to reason. "Please… Hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so God can forgive your sins… You taught me that."

Spoiler froze for a moment before looking down at her bloodied fist, visibly taken aback. "I did… Oh my God… I didn't even know… I didn't think I _had_ a dark side…"

"It is alright," Batgirl assured quickly as the police cars pulled up, bringing her hands to her friends shoulders to try and comfort her. "Everyone snaps. Sometimes. He who is without sin cast the first stone. It is just better that you are better."

Stephanie still did not shake the feeling until the police had cuffed the barely conscious Scarab and packed her into the car, moving towards The Seraphim's followers next. The friends said nothing until they came to the cellphone that the large man had thrown away, a voice just barely audible from where they stood. Batgirl lifted it as it demanded answers.

"Damn it Morrison, pick up! What's going on out there?!"

Pressing the button for speaker phone, Cassandra raised it to her face. "He has abandoned the scene. And your cause. Seraphim."

He didn't react at first, as if contemplating the circumstance before asking, "Are you the insolent loudmouth from the asylum?"

"Yes." She said simply.

"You're quite the interesting opponent indeed."

"Damn right!" Spoiler shouted. "And she does a hell of a better job bringing God into Gotham than you do! She does better dressed in black what you do in all white! You bring out as many Cherubs and Seraphs and whatever else you want, the Angel of the Bat is going to keep knocking you down to size!"

A small part of Cassandra was frightened by her challenge, but a larger part felt reassured and extremely pleased she had mentioned her title even without the costume. She couldn't keep the broad smile from covering her face. It was enough to ignore The Seraphim as he left a last message before hanging up the phone.

"Angel of the Bat, hm? I think I'm now convinced. You need my salvation more than any of the others. And let me promise you, my grace is coming."


	26. Chapter 25

Continuing to fulfill his promise, Bruce met Cassandra after her third Sunday service, a pair of dark glasses covering his eyes and waiting inside one of his more basic (but still very impressive) bright red sports cars, parked in an empty bank lot just across the street.

"I hope you can forgive me for trying to be inconspicuous," Bruce said, pinching his eyes as she climbed in. "Batman's quite busy enough, Bruce Wayne doesn't need any additional publicity picking up the daughter the paparazzi knows nothing about."

"It is fine," Cassandra said. "I am surprised you do it personally. Did Alfred object?"

"No, of course not," Bruce said. "I just know you have some hard feelings about the uniform, and I want to be sure you know I don't want to be discouraging." They were quiet then for a minute as Bruce made his way into the Sunday morning traffic. "It's still early enough, do you want to get some breakfast?"

Cassandra was surprised by this. "Oh, alright. Will we attract attention?"

"Let's hope not, but it's not like I can avoid it forever." Bruce drove through the streets slowly and carefully, turning to Cassandra as she giggled quietly. "What are you laughing at?"

"Is it hard to wait and not just drive through everything?" She asked. It took Bruce a moment to realize she was referring to his often haphazard habits behind the wheel of the batmobile.

"Let's just say I have to donate enough to keep these roads useable as is. I tear enough of it up at night, I really can't do that during the day."

For the next few traffic lights they were quiet again before Bruce resumed the conversation with, "I feel like I spent too long taking for granted what you need from me."

"What do you mean?"

"Dick had a father and even a mostly normal life before me. Tim had his even well into the time he was Robin. And of course Barbara and Stephanie both have families they can go to. But you, and Damian if... No, Damian _when_ he comes back, don't have that kind of worldly foundation... With Dick, Tim, even Jason, I was two-parts mentor and one part parent. But I tried that with you and neither of us seemed satisfied. I'm sorry I felt you alone as long as I did, and I want to do more to fix that."

"Thank you. It means a lot." Cassandra said, touched by a gentleness that Bruce rarely displayed.

They had soon escaped the trappings of Gotham's inner-city, driving into the countryside towards Wayne Manor when he stopped at a small restaurant with the title "Gino's", only two cars parked in the lot.

"I must have driven by this place a million times. They probably have photographs of the batmobile posted inside, and I've never been here. Might have to pay off the waitstaff to not get too excited that we're here," he concluded under his breath.

The two were seated quickly in the nearly-empty diner, each soon sipping coffee and trying to adjust to the unusual, but not unpleasant, situation. None of the staff seemed to recognize Bruce, thankfully.

"The point I was making in the car," he said quietly, "Is that there's more to adoption than just living in my house. I told you then, you're family… I haven't always treated you like that, but it's the least you deserve. And I hope you can forgive me for how long it took me to realize that."

"I have not always known what forgiveness is. But I think I have always felt it. Especially recently though."

"I wasn't entirely sure how this religious odyssey of yours was going to turn out," Bruce said, taking another sip from his mug. "But I just kept reminding myself that at your age, it's very good you're making decisions for yourself. I would have never predicted this one, but it seems to be working for you."

"It makes me happy," Cassandra said.

"Good. That's what it's supposed to do. In my experience at least."

Their conversation paused again when one of the wait staff set down two large omelets in front of the two of them, Bruce requesting more coffee for the two of them when she asked if they needed anything else. When their cups had been filled, Cassandra picked up with, "What do you believe?"

"Did Tim make that crack about how I have a plan to take down God if he becomes disagreeable?" Cassandra nodded, Bruce's eyes shifting uncomfortably. "I er… That wasn't a _serious_ document…" Cassandra looked at him, now stunned. "It was a codename! It was for… Who do you _think_ it was for?" He asked in a hushed voice. "I used to save a lot of my contingencies like that. Say you've got a plan in case Superman goes rogue and he'll seek out and destroy it. Say it's your plan for keeping out of hell and you just get written off as a madman." Now again Cassandra was laughing. "I haven't had any of those files since they were stolen… I assure you, they don't exist anymore."

"I believe you," Cassandra said. "You did not answer my question."

"It's a very hard question for me to answer," Bruce said, his eyes darting around the café to be sure no one was giving him any attention, which he was assured they weren't. "I've met a lot of… _People_ in very interesting states of being Cassandra. The kinds of people that make all traditional kinds of belief very questionable… And I'm not going to go into that in a place like this." He said, quieting himself again. "I've seen incredible evil and incredible good both out there, and I've accepted that there is a lot of it I haven't seen as well… As I've asked you in the past, don't let me hinder your interest though."

"I will not," Cassandra said. "Since meeting the Monsignor, everything I have learned… I feel so at home. With church, God, Jesus, I feel like I belong."

"It could be," Bruce proposed, "That nothing ever felt like it really encouraged your more gentle tendencies. From a young age you were taught that compassion was weakness and in-" he stopped abruptly to assure the waitress they didn't need anything more and the omelets were tasting great, "Sorry. In our 'line of work', you unfortunately were made to stick to what you knew best… But however skilled you were, that didn't necessarily mean it completely matched your personality."

"I have always been happy to help," she said. "You would not be my family if I had not."

"But you're going to tell me it didn't become exhausting that you were still doing the same things you were trained to?" Bruce asked. "I doubt that. I think your conversion may be an outlet that you're using to feel and express things you have little experience with. And I'm not saying that in a negative way, I only mean that I think it is helping you become better attuned to those emotions. Things you have always felt, but not always been able to express."

"Maybe," Cassandra said. "I can understand that."

"It might not have just been Jesus you were looking so hard for. He might have helped you find yourself as well," Bruce said with a smile. "And I'm very glad for that."

The two continued to talk over breakfast, Cassandra feeling and appreciating the effect Bruce was going for. He was right, there had been some tension after he rejected the uniform, but she felt comforted sitting and talking to him. "You know Christmas isn't much more than a month away. I know you've always celebrated with us, but I imagine it'll feel a little different this year, don't you think? At least for you?"

"I guess. I had not thought about that."

"Let's just hope this situation with Lebowitz gets resolved before then," Bruce muttered. The words should not have garnered any attention, but he was being quiet nonetheless. "That would be a good Christmas present for all of us."

"I agree," Cassandra said.

"Well, you never ask for much anyway, so if anything special comes to mind, let me know. I think you know how unfortunately busy things get around the holidays." To anyone else that would of course have meant shopping and hastily collecting presents. In their line of work, it was Joker and Calendar Man pulling as many holiday-themed stunts as they could possibly fit in the season. "You and your brothers help keep me together in all that."

As Bruce and Cassandra finished their breakfasts, she could not help but notice a man nervously looking back and forth between Bruce and his morning paper. "That man keeps looking at you," she remarked.

Bruce turned towards him. He did not mean to glare, but he could not prevent his eyes from being intense. "Can I help you sir?"

The man shifted more erratically before finally settling his eyes on him and stuttering, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to stare… It's just… I overheard your voice and got a good look at you and… Well…" Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Are you Superman by some chance?"

Cassandra burst out laughing to the point she had to hold her forehead and quickly her sides. There had been so little build-up and it had come out of nowhere, but she could not help herself, and only laughed harder when she saw Bruce give the glare on purpose and then scowl. He reached into his pocket, produced his wallet, and set a stack of bills probably around two or three times the size of their orders on the table, motioning to Cassandra to follow him to the car.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She insisted.

"Don't be," Bruce remarked. "For the first time since I met you you're actually acting a little more on center… If _this_ is the worst I have to go through with that, it'll all be worth it."


	27. Chapter 26

"The good news is wherever that Deadshot rumor came from, we have confirmed it was false. As of right now, there is a zero-percent chance to the Suicide Squad turning up."

"And the bad news?"

"Guess you weren't watching the television before you came down."

Bruce flicked on a news report he had recorded, playing it on the oversized batcomputer as Barbara's face shrunk into the lower left-hand corner. With Dick, Cassandra and Tim all gathered early that morning, he played the recording with the flick of a button. Reporter Will Creighton stood in front of a row of fire-fighters and police officers standing against a large building, its windows blown out and the last remnants of smoke rising out of it.

"I'm standing here in front of the Old Gotham Synagogue, which earlier this morning, suffered a terrible attack. The police department predict no less than three high-grade explosives erupted within."

Although everyone was shaken by this, Tim was the only one who appeared immediately visibly angry. "They go from hanging out outside nightclubs to this?" He asked with a grit in this teeth. "We can't even follow this guy based on priority!"

"Thankfully only a handful of people were inside for morning prayer and none were killed, but each was taken away shaking violently and claiming they weren't seeing straight." Creighton paused for a moment to motion off-camera. "Gotham's own police commissioner James Gordon agreed to say a few words on this. Mr. Gordon, what do you have to say about this?"

"It's a tragedy will, and one that I want everyone to be sure my department will not accept. Judging by some evidence we discovered within the synagogue, we have reason to believe this horrible tragedy is linked to the radical group we recently identified as, 'The Church of the Voice of God.'"

"Is this the same group involved on the attacks on Arkham Asylum a few weeks ago commissioner?"

"It is. While they were inside the Asylum, the church's members broke into several previously undiscovered caches set up by inmate Johnathan Crane. Each cache contained several liters of concentrated 'fear toxin', a popular weaponized drug amongst members of Gotham's underground. Judging by the reactions of the people inside, I'd say they all got a pretty heavy taste of the stuff. They're being taken to receive the anti-venom now, and hopefully we can catch up with those madmen before they have the chance to do more damage."

Bruce then paused the video and turned to his progeny. "That was the morning news an hour ago. Since then a few more facts have come to light, including this: Jim received several accounts of what happened during the attack. At least three include a giant looking man, the visible skin on his arm a sickening green."

Silence overtook the room briefly before Tim summarized with, "They already broke Croc? I mean, he wasn't the smartest guy around, but actually giving in to his demands? You can't be serious."

"We're talking about Blackfire's methods combined with that damn fear toxin. It took him two weeks to break _me_, Tim. Croc surely didn't stand a chance."

"Speaking of Blackfire," Barbara said with some hesitation. "There was… Something else I wanted to address."

"What is it Barbara?" Bruce asked.

She was shifting in her seat, visibly uncomfortable as she took a sip of coffee. "I have it loaded up on the monitor. It's for you Bruce… I had no idea he even knew where I lived…"

"Babs, we're not gonna know what you're talking about until you put it on," Dick replied.

With a swallow and a few clicks, a paused video was brought up on the Batcomputer. Five men, garbed all in black laid on the ground, hogtied and groaning in pain. Alongside them was one of The Seraphim's servants wearing an Ox mask, struggling against the handcuffs that kept him chained to the wall. The video was scratchy and the quality was poor, but its perpetrator was clear the moment he began speaking.

"Quite a sight, huh Batman? It should be, I'm getting paid on commission for every one of these tools." It didn't matter how familiar the voice was, because its own stepped out in front of the camera a moment later, garbed in a brown leather biker jacket, a bright red mask and point his pistol at the nearest of The Seraphim's soldiers, who began to scream and swear as he did.

"Mr. Cobblepot and I have buried a few of our old hatchets, at least for the time being," Red Hood remarked. "Couple of nights like these and I'll be buying toys as fancy as all of yours… I'm telling you to stay clear, Batman, because as of right now, every one of these guys belongs to me… Well, know that I've made that clear," he crouched next to the horrified man he was standing next to, pressing his pistol to his head. "I'm gonna get a little Old Testament in here."

With that the video stopped. "I really didn't think we had to see any more of that," Barbara said, closing the window and bringing her face back to the screen's center.

"Damn it, Jason," Dick muttered. "Is it just me, or does he come back crazier every single time he leaves town?"

"Regardless, we'll deal with him as necessary," Bruce said, shaking and then holding his head. "The streets are getting too crowded and, unfortunately, we really can't be everywhere at once."

"I'll handle Jason then," Dick volunteered. "He wants to fight me, but I don't think he wants me dead quite as bad as you two… Sorry for the exclusion Cass, but he literally has nothing to hold against you."

"I know," she affirmed.

"I can go with you to the synagogue," Tim said. "I've been there before, you know, weddings and funerals for my mom's friends and family. I can help out."

"I doubt I need an escort through a synagogue, Tim," Bruce replied. "And I know that isn't really why you volunteered. You can come with me to investigate."

"Am I going to be safe?" Barbara asked. "He's never shown an interest in me before, but this-"

"You'll be alright Barbara," Bruce assured her. "Jason obviously knows where I live and he's never attempted to attack me here. And as you said, he doesn't carry any kind of grudge against you. Jason has feuds with us, but would gain little by going after you. He's a disturbed man, but he's still far from the point of taking someone like you as a hostage."

"I hope you're right," Barbara said. "Well, that's Batman and Robin at the synagogue, Nightwing tracking down Red Hood, what about Cassie and Steph?"

"Was already thinking about it," Bruce replied. "Cassandra, I want you with Tim and me tonight. Jason doesn't have a reason to target either of you, but The Seraphim's forces are going to be the more deadly opponents. Dick, Stephanie's going with you tonight."

"Oooh, fun times," Dick said with a chuckle. "Hey Tim, is she legal yet? I wanna be careful about what battlefield banter I'm using."

"Shut up," Tim said, rolling his eyes. Barbara and Cassandra gave Dick a little laugh as Bruce dismissed the group and went back to his work. "You'll have her for a few days, but she's going to be out for Thanksgiving for a few days."

"Thanksgiving, I'd nearly forgotten about it," Bruce said. "Let's hope The Seraphim celebrates it too. I think we all need a few days off. You're all dismissed, I have some more work to do."

"Oh, Bruce, before I forget," Tim remarked. "That utility belt from the other night that got damaged and you said to just give to Alfred to throw out? I uh… I think I left the Redbird's keys in one of the compartments. Is that thing still around?"

"Alfred destroys old suits and parts on the first Thursday of the month. It should be in a bin on the third level down. Keep better track of those next time," he said, not even turning from the screen.

Tim made his way down one of the narrow staircases off to his left, Cassandra deciding to follow him, given she had little else to do.

"Are you and Stephanie well?" She asked.

"Great, actually," Tim said. "When I can see her out of costume at least. Heh, taking you to Adoration really earned me a lot of brownie points… And it was probably good that I went too. My soul needs a little refresher now and again."

"You could come on Sunday," she said.

"I still need to work up the nerve to see Monsignor Ryan again," he replied. "Whether he's annoyed to see me or overjoyed, I don't know that I'm ready for either reaction. Not just yet."

"Well, it still means a lot to me," Cassandra said. "Going changed everything."

The two arrived at the bin Bruce had mentioned. "Yeah? Well I'm really glad. It seems to be working out great for you. Well, that was easy enough."

The belt was tossed lazily atop older, torn uniforms and bits of cloth and armor. He rifled through several of the broken compartments before producing his key. "There we go," and tossed it back on top of the pile. "Simple as that… Though did he say first Thursday of the month? Guess it's lucky I got here when I did."

Tim slipped the key into his pocket and headed back up the stairs. Cassandra looked down at the bin, unsure just why before she began sifting through the uniforms. She frowned as she came across two sets of her uniform, which she was sure she hadn't ripped in the field. She usually kept damages to a minimum, so what were they doing there?

She dug further, eyeing the blacks and reds until her hands came to something different. Something white. She froze in place. It couldn't be. Bruce had been very clear and very strict that she not wear it. There was surely no way one had actually been created.

Cassandra slowly raised the uniform out of the pile and her mouth opened in joy. There it was, exactly as she had described to Alfred. It was a pearly white, decorated in the enter with the golden stained glass-styled symbol and cross. Attached to the back was a cape, running down to the knees in a fine lavender. It was all there, just as she wanted it.

With some difficulty Cassandra folded the uniform (sans boots) and hugged it as close to her chest as she could as she made her way back to the cave's main floor. Bruce was still seated at the computer and typing away, paying her no mind. Walking briskly but making as little noise as possible, Cassandra slipped through the passage back into the manor and went straight to her room, holding the suit tight again before slipping it under her bed.

Bruce was right, she told herself. Wearing it in battle would be dangerous. He hadn't meant her to have it at all, so she would need to prove her responsibility. It wasn't for dressing in, it was just another reminder of her newfound faith.

Over and over she tried to convince herself of that.


	28. Chapter 27

Thanksgiving came and went quietly that year. There were no major crimes to report, no asylum breakouts, dinner was smooth at the Wayne household. The family with the exception of Bruce, sat lethargically that night, full of turkey and potatoes. Barbara joined them later that night, she and Dick taking shots of schnapps between conversations. At around nine PM, Bruce excused himself from the living room, everyone already knowing where he was going.

"You're out of your mind," Dick groaned, leaning deep into the couch. "Calendar Man's in Arkham. Joker's in Arkham… If Condiment King is out of jail, I'll bet everyone's glad to see him. He could have stopped by and dropped off some more gravy."

"Crime doesn't take a holiday," Bruce replied. "Hopefully I won't need any of you, but be ready if I do."

"Maybe you should swing by the mall then," Tim joked. "Black Friday's a great day for theft and damages." When Bruce didn't respond, he quickly added, "You probably shouldn't do that. That was a joke."

"I'm aware that you don't think I know the difference," Bruce retorted. "But I do."

And onward the next week went. Cassandra was treated to an elongated sermon by Monsignor Ryan that Sunday on the importance of the Advent season. Though the phrase eluded her at first, she felt she had something of an understanding as he continued on about the coming of Christmas, and the celebration of Christ's birth.

"Now I know it is hard for many of us to imagine, but it was a bleak time when Jesus came for his pilgrimage on earth. Every day we all face challenges. For some, we wonder how we will put food on the table. Others worry about receiving taking medicine on time. Or even something as simple as if you'll have time to see your children before you tuck them in to sleep. And I'm positive at some time or another, we have all wondered, 'Where is God when I need him?' And that is a difficult place to be."

"Imagine then, our Jewish predecessors. Conquered in battle many times, sometimes forced to worship only in secret, desperate for an answer to the pains they experienced every single day. And I'm sure to many of them, God seemed very far away. Who among us didn't have that time where we looked to our parents and said, 'I know you fed me, and raised me and clothed me, but what have you done for me lately?'" There was a brief round of laughter few the pews. "I teach middle schoolers how to prepare for confirmation. I hear things like that all the time. We think our parents really don't have any idea what we're going through. But just like our parents, God _does_ know what we have been through. God walked a mile in our shoes. And through his son, Jesus, has insight for every one of us."

"God came to earth and revealed that he wasn't so far away. That he would always be close at hand and would always listen. God has shown us his true nature, and that it is a great, wonderful thing. And so as we approach the Christmas season, the music, the lights, the delicious foods and the presents for the little ones, do not lose sight of the greatest gift we were sent this season. God has given a chance to know him, and through that, we can know, and bring out the best in ourselves."

As Cassandra looked to the alter, it was as if something was again awakened within her. Nothing nearly so extreme this time, but a decision. She had grappled with it for days then, but now she was sure. It was just going to be a matter of fighting for it.

…

Two nights later, as she was summoned to the cave, Cassandra gathered her courage, stepped out of her room and through the passageway. As if to test how long she could wait for a response, the manor seemed already abandoned, her compatriots already within the cave.

Bruce was already speaking when she walked in and he fell dead silent. Dick and Tim both gave him looks of confusion before they turned around and had double-takes of their own.

"… I told Alfred to get rid of that thing. Immediately," Bruce said sternly. "Where did you find it?"

"The bin," Cassandra said. "Buried under old uniforms… More than there should have been," she added.

"Alfred must have put those there to try and hide it," Bruce said under his breath.

The uniform that Cassandra had designed fit perfectly, the colors and definition, while bright, flowed well with one another. The only black still notable on her person was her hair, which Bruce also took note of.

"Did you cut that yourself?"

"I tried," Cassandra said. The unevenness was instantly notable and, indeed, amateurly done. "You said it had to be shorter."

"I did say that," Bruce replied, "And I also said I wasn't letting you out wearing that thing. It isn't even supposed to be here. It was a shipping order mistake. Nothing more."

"But it _is_ here," Cassandra argued. "I think there is reason for that."

"Don't make that argument to me," Bruce said, his sternness seeming to slowly change to anger. "I thought we already talked about this. I'm not trying to suppress your faith, I'm trying to keep you alive!"

"Monsignor Ryan said through God we reveal who we are. This is who _I_ am." Cassandra insisted.

"You can be _that_ all you want when you're not in costume," Bruce said, his voice growing gruffer still. "In that church, he's your leader. In this cave, I am."

"But Bruce-"

"And in that church you are one of his children… But in this house you are one of mine! If you're coming out tonight, you're going to take that off and not put it on again-"

"I don't mean to interrupt," Dick said, "But did you happen to just catch that on the radio?"

"What?" Bruce asked. He gave Dick a look before going to it and turning it up.

"We repeat, all civilians are urged to stay indoors! Police have confirmed an attack by the terrorists identifying themselves as 'The Cherubim' in The Gotham Village. The GCPD has just confirmed an attack on 'The Garden' nightclub."

"I can't even believe with all that Sodom and Gomorrah it took them this long," Tim said with a grit of his teeth. "We need to get out there."

"Right. You two are coming with me. Cassandra, I'm ordering you to either change or-"

"It has also just been confirmed that the criminal 'Red Hood' is leading some kind of attack in The Diamond District. What he hopes to gain is currently unknown."

Bruce swore under his breath as he pulled on his cowl. "Change of plans. Dick, you and Stephanie need to try and settle this with Jason while he's still out in the open."

"You sure about that?" Dick asked. "He's just another assassin right now. The Seraphim is the real problem."

"If Lebowitz gets his hands on Jason, he might be able to bend him until he breaks," Bruce said. "None of those other assassins know who I really am. If Jason lets that out, this only gets worse."

"_Really_ a good thing Hush is out of the country then," Tim said. "I'd never ever thought about that."

"Understood," Dick replied, sliding his mask over his face and approaching his motorcycle. "You might want to talk to Steph about this Tim, provided this isn't the night we catch him. She's weirdly focused on this case."

With that, Dick sped out from the cave and all attention returned to Cassandra, dressed all in white but bearing the symbol of golden stained glass.

"My terms haven't changed," Bruce asserted. "I'm not letting you out like that."

"Bruce, if I could interject," Tim began. "Look, I know you have a million logical reasons to oppose this, but time is kind of of the essence here. The longer we stand here arguing, the more notches The Seraphim gets in his belt."

"Then she stays here," Bruce maintained.

"I don't know about you, but I really don't want to try and face those four head on, just the two of us," Tim replied. "Especially considering one of them could very well be Croc… I know you're worried Bruce, but this is Cassie we're talking about here. Beating up the bad guys is what she does best!"

There was a tense silence between the three of them for a few seconds before there came the echo of feet descending the staircase into the cave and the mention that, "All children rebel against their parents sooner or later, Master Bruce."

Alfred stepped into the cave and exchanged looks with the three of them before Bruce said, "You told me you got rid of that suit."

"My apologies sir... We were just so near to the holiday already I was sure it could wait. I didn't think she'd find it." Again the quiet took them before Alfred remarked, "And with or without that costume, our Cassandra has only ever proven to us how strongly she seeks the betterment of this city. Right now there are lives in danger. Master Timothy is right, for now it is in everyone's best interest if you set this matter aside."

Bruce glared at Alfred briefly before telling Tim, "We'll be right behind you." As Tim finished pulling on his uniform and going to his bike, Bruce closed the distance between himself and Cassandra, easily towering over her and maintaining his stern look. "If this goes perfectly… If you don't lose a single drop of blood… You're still not wearing that suit again. If things weren't growing so dangerous right now, I wouldn't hesitate to take further action. Do not make me regret making this exception Cassandra."

"I will not. I promise," she assured him.

With that, for the first undeniable time, Cassandra left the cave under a new identity. She was, beyond any doubt, the Angel of the Bat.

…

By the time the Batmobile pulled into The Village there was already heavy gunfire being exchanged between The Cherubim and the GCPD. A row of bars and restaurants burned in the villains wake as Gordon hid behind one of his men's cars, trying to order in more reinforcements while struggling to come up with protocol for the thinly laid streets. Three of The Cherubim, garbed in Eagle, Lion and Bear masks were easily distinguished and firing rounds alongside The Seraphim's lesser, black-dressed servants. Even as bullets grazed The Cherubim, they did not slow or even show the smallest signs of pain. In spite of everything, fighting in the ways Batman would not still did not yield any results.

The standoff came to its abrupt end when the Batmobile and Redbird parked firmly across the street from the firefight, Batman, Robin and The Angel pulling themselves out and entering the fray. At first, one of the men in black didn't give it much mind. "You all know the drill!" He shouted. "Kill the pigs, kill the queers, leave the Bat for the boss!" He seemed content with this for only a moment before he got another look at the opponents he was facing. "Wait… What the… Who's the squint in white?"

"Holy hell, did the gospels just get replaced with how to use racial slurs with you guys?" Tim asked in disgust. "I know you're doing worse than that right this minute, but this is just getting disgusting."

Rounds of machine gun fire towards the police forced Robin to drop the subject as he and Batman started throwing batarangs and firing their grappling hooks at the gunmen, trying to disarm them. The Hawk, The Lion and The Bear all ran at them and intercepted their attention. With no sign of The Man anywhere, the fight looked to be an even three against three.

From their last two encounters, Bruce had struggled to devise some kind of consistent strategy against The Seraphim's strongest servants. Broken bones seemed to just snap back into place, they showed no sign of pain or weakness, and each was totally loyal to whatever commands they were receiving within their masks. And yet, according to Gordon and the polygraph tests, they didn't even know they were doing it. None had any memory of attacking while wearing the masks, and had somehow been manipulated without any detectable trace of drugs or outside influence. Cassandra's heart-stopping technique had been the closest thing to a consistent defeat measure they had seen, since tearing the masks off would require isolating one from the rest. In all of the time he had spent, Batman was still unsure how to overcome these masked powerhouses.

And yet such fears did absolutely nothing to halt Cassandra. Standing against The Eagle, Angel wasted no time and matched the swinging of his short swords with a pair of batarangs. The two exchanged slashes and blade locks for a few strikes before Angel kicked one of the blades out of The Eagle's hand, sending it flying blade-up for a moment before she reached out and managed to catch it. The two held a glare at one another before the two swords clashed. Within the first few strikes, however, it became very obvious that The Eagle really didn't know what he was doing. Despite being competent at wielding the blades against an unarmed opponent, knowledge of the weight, movements and stances of a sword-dual were lost to him, no matter what commands The Seraphim or any of his other allies tried to scream. In mere blows Angel was able to knock the second sword from The Eagle's hand. He reached for his pistol but in another kick Angel knocked the gun from his possession and raised one of the swords to his neck.

Showing what, for the first time, seemed to be desperation, The Eagle lunged at her and managed to knock Angel to the ground and forced her to drop the swords. Still, with a flurry of punches to his face, she was able to repel The Eagle, forcing him onto his back and allowing her the chance to grab the short swords again. However, rather than continue with him, Angel briefly retreated from their fight, making her way towards Robin and The Lion.

Robin, unused to combating one of the faces alone, had been overpowered, slashed across the chest with the serrated glove his opponent wore and smacked repeatedly across the face with the barrel of his shotgun. Robin was clutching at the bloody wounds on his chest, struggling to use his staff for support and fighting everything to keep a steady gaze.

When The Lion went in for another strike with his gun (surely because a blast at short range would be deadly and violate The Seraphim's orders), he was interrupted by the two swords Angel had stolen from The Eagle, halting his attack in mid-air and, with a few slashes of her own, knocking the gun out of his hand.

"Switch!" She commanded. Robin had only a moment to realize what she meant as The Eagle came rushing towards them. Reacting as best he could, Robin thrust his staff outward and jabbed The Eagle right in the stomach, and quickly used the first strike advantage to take the offensive against The Eagle. Angel, in contrast, kept her focus solely on The Lion.

The swipes of his claws were fast and their range was surprising, but Angel would not be overcome by them. As her already masterful movement-reading combined with the calm she felt within, her strength seemed almost multiplied. Angel was able to dodge slash after slash and, after a brief pause, responded with several of her own, managing to cut and sever the blades from The Lion's glove. The act required such precision and strength that as Batman turned upon hearing them _clang_ against the ground, he was nearly struck by The Bear's polearm thanks to the moment he looked in disbelief.

Continuing her movements over the battlefield, she crossed to Batman's side. The Bear tried to alternate swinging and stabbing at the two of them, but it was quickly clear he was not used to battling two formidable opponents. As he returned attention to Batman, Angel was able to slip behind him and trip him from behind, effectively putting him to the ground in a single sweep. Switching to a backhanded grip on one of her swords, she smashed the pommel into The Bear's masked face, crashing it into his maw over and over before the animal was torn and the cybernetics started to show. She would have continued the attack, but there was a sudden, sharp pull on her frayed hair. She turned around and met with The Lion once again, who delivered a few punches to her face, forcing her off The Bear and causing her to drop the swords.

Frustrated by his interruption, Angel swiftly resumed her attack on The Lion. With a few kicks of her own she managed to put him to the pavement. Grabbing ahold of one of the swords, Angel took a slash into his oversized mane. The attack would seem impulsive and extremely dangerous under normal circumstances, but Angel had the chance to feel the weight within the mask as their fight had progressed. She looked and saw, as she had predicted, the exposed scalp of the man within. Angel was about to cut into the mask further when there came yells from the gunman watching over the fight.

"Whoever she is she's way too strong! Get him out of there already!"

As if he had been waiting in the wings for the command, the towering Man walked out from the burning building just before them. Batman and Robin's fears had been realized: standing at seven and a half feet tall, his exposed skin a sickening, scaly green, with the notable exception of a large burn-scar on his right arm. Killer Croc had been made into The Man.

"Stand down," a voice that was decidedly _not_ Croc's commanded them. "We're not here for you tonight, Dark Knight. Stand down or I sick Jones on the pigs waiting over there."

"Nothing is stopping them from taking out the cops anyway," Robin said. "As if these things weren't bad enough, there he is. Just like they said. What do we do?"

"We can't just rush in. Between that mace and as strong as he already is, we'll have to-"

Batman didn't even have time to come up with a strategy. Before he could complete his thought with Robin, Angel had already rushed at The Man. Not expecting such a seemingly-foolish frontal assault, The Man swung his mace horizontally, as if swinging to take her head off. Angel was swift to duck the attack and delivered a jumping uppercut to his masked face thereafter. The Man did not stagger and, releasing one of his hands on the mace, layed a fierce punch across Angel's face, knocking her onto the ground.

Batman and Robin ran towards her to assist, but The Eagle, The Lion and The Bear all stood between them and the fight that was evolving. Still, even after his mighty first strike, Angel was back on her feet as if it was nothing. The Man took a few more swings with the mace, but none were nearly fast enough to keep up with her. In a movement to repeat her moves from Arkham, Angel slashed through the shoulder pads of his armor and, in a swift tear, ripped it from his chest.

The Man attempted another flurry of attacks, managing to strike her in the gut and leave her winded, but Angel made the distance necessary thereafter. When he raised the mace over his head, she knew the battle was won.

Angel thrust her palm into his chest, managing to narrowly mitigate the blow's deadly force and, within seconds, knocking The Man onto his back. And, also like in the asylum, every eye landed upon her and her fallen opponent.

"Are you kidding me?! It's that Batgirl again!"

"She just took out Croc like he was nothing!"

"Screw it! Screw it screw it screw it! I don't care what the boss says anymore! Kill her! Kill he-"

A blast of bullets assured that singular gunman he was alone on that stance, to the Bat Family's continued anger. Angel walked to The Man's unconscious body and tore off the metallic mask with a strength even she had not foreseen, freeing the temporarily disposed Croc from its clutches. Raising the torn mask, Angel caught a few seconds worth of The Seraphim commanding "Retreat! We'll finish it later, retreat!" before the sound within died out. She looked at her unconscious opponent and silently made a sign of the cross to his recovery.

Forced from the offensive, a number of The Seraphim's forces managed to escape Gotham Village that night, but between the GCPD and the family, nearly three-fourths were captured, far more than in any of their past encounters. Talk was brief with the GCPD and the three returned to their vehicles, Batman with two fingers to his ear.

"We're just finishing up. I can hardly believe it, but Batgirl might have set a new high for herself," he said. "What about on your end? …I see… Get her back to the cave then. Sooner the better."

"Everything okay?" Robin asked.

"They managed to catch up with Jason. Stephanie was injured. They don't know how badly, you guys should probably get down here. Right away."

A look of unease came across Robin's face. "Go." And he went to the Redbird, driving back towards the manor. Batman watched in his direction until he disappeared from sight before turning back to Angel. "That was… Fantastic. There really are no two ways about it."

"Thank you," she replied.

"I'm not changing my mind about what I told you… That's not what I mean by those compliments… I just feel like you deserve it. This really has changed everything for you, hasn't it?"

"Never felt better," she replied, giving him a smile. "We should go. A friend needs us."

[[Author's note: After re-evaluating some of my thoughts on the story, I actually think it's currently much closer to the final act than I had anticipated. We'll see if that's actually how things turn out, but I have opted to streamline some things, particularly because getting to the big moment of conversion felt like it took _forever_ in hindsight and, frankly, Batman and company can only be fighting the same enemies for so long before their efficiency begins to read as questionable. I don't plan to sacrifice any quality as a result of this decision, I just think that now that the story is running, it's better to continue doing so and doing less slowing down. For the first arc, story took a backseat to characters. For this one, they'll be standing on more even ground.

And just for the heck of it, here's a tiny preview for you: The next "chapter" will be another one-shot, this one called "The Prodigal Son". I'll let you draw your own conclusions on that…


	29. One Shot: The Prodigal Son

One Shot: The Prodigal Son

[[Author's note: I have done my best to study some medical info for this chapter. But at the end of the day, there's only so many ways you can google the same question without getting any answers. Please try to remember this is still a comic fic. I had a sorceress in it earlier and Superman has been referenced many times. I'm not shooting for Nolan-style realism the whole way through. Thank you.]]

Oswald Cobblepot took a long drag on his cigar as he stepped into the elevator, swiped his card, and pressed the button leading to his penthouse with the tip of his umbrella, as he could not reach it otherwise. No one in the Gotham Hampshire Hotel had given him any looks, even ones of fear, on his way in, which he was thankful for.

With the Iceberg Lounge compromised the way it had been, The Penguin had dropped off Gotham's crime radar for a time, at least until his invaders were driven from the city. _His_ city, as far as he was still concerned. Soon, he continued to tell himself, everything would be back to the way it was. When the elevator came to a halt, Cobblepot stepped out. His eyes were quickly drawn to two things: the shattered glass of one of his windows in the wide, glass-surrounded living room, and the red-masked man sitting on his couch by the fire, wearing one of his coats and tipping one of his top hats towards him.

"Evenin' govena'," the Red Hood taunted, Penguin starring in in shock and disgust.

"What the 'ell are you doing here?" He demanded, as Red Hood tossed aside the hat and shrugged off the oversized coat, revealing his well-armed biker jacket underneath. "Who let you in?!"

"I trained with the best of them," Hood replied, standing up from the couch. "Why are you complaining? It's just starting to snow. Figured 'The Penguin' would appreciate that."

"Cut your crap boy! What'd you come for?"

"You've been shortchanging me Mr. Cobblepot," Red Hood said affably.

"What're you talking about?" Cobblepot asked. "I paid you for each and every one of them choir singin' bastards."

"You also said you'd be giving me the equipment necessary to continue combating them," he said. "But I've been doing a little detective work around here since we became business partners. You have some interesting stuff you've been developing… Technology I've been saving up for. So I figured, why not just cut out the middle-man and _take_ what I want?"

"Little brat… Snoopin' around at my tech…" Penguin raised his umbrella, pulled on the hidden trigger within the handle and blasted Red Hood in a spray of bullets, knocking him to the ground. "No better than the damn Batman," he sneered.

"On the contrary. I'm _much_ better than him."

Penguin starred, stunned, as Red Hood pushed back onto his feet and tossed the jacket aside, revealing a bullet-proof vest that seemed to repair itself as he straightened up. "I don't even know what this crap is, but judging by how my bullets tend to bounce, you stole it from those so called 'Choir boys'." He remarked. "I'm not sure even Batman has toys this fun."

Cobblepot took a step back and raised his umbrella again, prepared to fight, though he already knew it was useless. "And clearly that's not all you got off of them either," Hood continued, opening one of his fists to reveal a burst of flame. "I want in on this Cobblepot. We're going to have to renegotiate our terms a little… Or I'm gonna have roast penguin tonight."

After this sentiment Red Hood was painfully interrupted by a sudden flying kick to the face, knocking him across the room and into the opposite wall. With a grunt he pushed himself up and faced the blue and black clad hero opposite him.

"No one needs access to tools like that, Jason." Nightwing said sternly.

"Hey, you mind watch how you drop that? We don't all have names that are interchangeable with insults. Dick."

"You sods mind taking this somewhere else?" Penguin demanded. "You're gonna get me caught in the crossfire!"

When yet another figure descended into the room, Penguin let out a roar of anger, ran into his bedroom and locked the door. "Well, looks like we've got the place all to ourselves," Spoiler remarked.

"And then there's that one," Red Hood muttered. "The one I don't even recognize."

"I resent that!" Spoiler shouted, pointing a finger at him angrily.

"Keep it together," Nightwing told her. "He doesn't want to kill you, don't give him a reason to."

"Yeah kid, why don't you run along?" Red Hood asked, raising one of his pistols towards Nightwing. "Former Robins only."

With that sentiment angering Spoiler further, he took his opening shots at Nightwing, who quickly jumped behind the couch Red Hood had been sitting on. He rose a moment later, tossing three wing-dings on at his hands, knocking both of the pistols out of them and then closing the distance between them.

The clang of eskrima sticks against the singular gun and knife Red Hood had drawn echoed through the penthouse. Breaking from their initial lock, Nightwing smashed into Red Hood's mask repeatedly with the sticks, which forced Hood to lower his guard and grab at his head a little before haphazardly firing a shot at Nightwing's shoulder.

Nightwing's uniform offered little in the way of resistence to the bullet and he was quickly forced to back up, gripping at the wound as Red Hood took a slash with his knife, which he only just missed. With a quick whirl Nightwing managed to trip him, knocking him onto his back and allowing the hero to kick the gun out of his hand. In retaliation, Hook took another slash at Nightwing's leg, drawing more blood and leaving a nasty cut. Flipping a switch on his mechanism, Red Hood clenched his fingers as the flame again burst forth from his palm, intent on scorching his former comrade.

As if wondering what she was supposed to do if not fight and lend support, Spoiler ran at the two and kicked the still-grounded Red Hood in the face, distracting him enough to allow Nightwing to jump backwards and away from his flaming hand. Despite the kick, Red Hood was quickly back on his feet.

"Alright, so your sidekick has a decent side-kick, noted," Red Hood said, pulling yet another gun from his belt. "You're not the most spineless one he's picked up either. It'd almost be a shame to take you out."

Drawing her grappling hook as he spoke, Spoiler fired at his chest, the claws digging into his armored vest, and took a leap, flying towards him and delivering another kick to the side of his head. Red Hood only missed a single beat and let out one grunt of pain as he grabbed ahold of her cape, the fire springing to life from his hand quickly lighting it aflame. Spoiler looked at the burning fabric in fear for a moment before she unclasped it and tossed it into the fireplace with the rest of the kindling, bitterly losing her hood in the process.

"What do you know? She even looks kind of like me," Red Hood chuckled. "Hey blue jay! Why don't you sit this one out? I wanna play around with her a little more." Directly after this statement, Hood was again ducking and dodging wing-dings, though purposely let one clang against his armor and fall to the floor like it was nothing.

"You said it yourself, former Robins only!" Nightwing yelled, throwing a few more and then lunging at their opponent, grabbing him by the vest and ramming him against the opposite wall, The Penguin yelling a few more incomprehensible words from the other side.

Nightwing then turned Red Hood's face towards the wall and began smashing it in, over and over again before Hood got at one of his knives and dug it into Nightwing's arm. He stopped and cried in pain, managing to quickly but painfully pull the knife from his flesh as Red Hood regained his composure, grabbed Nightwing by the hair and bashed him in the jaw with his knee three times before tossing him aside, blood dripping from his mouth, and turning back towards Spoiler. "Don't make me finish you Grayson. Nobody's gonna pay me for doing it tonight… As for you, where were we?"

"You were just being like every other jerk in Gotham, trying to beat up a girl you've never met before," Spoiler critiqued. "Do you really want to do all of this? We're all trying to run The Seraphim out of town. We've got a common goal here! Why do we need to fight about it? Is it written somewhere in the rules and laws of superheroing that every team-up has to be preceded by a stupid 'mutual-respect-earning' fight or something?"

"And look at that, she's even smart enough to start questioning convention." Hood's taunting with this remark was surprisingly minimal, almost as if he was sincere. "No, whoever you are. We don't have to fight. And we are striving for the same things. The only problem is your precious Batman. Your mentor is a coward, unable to grow the hell up and actually give this city the salvation he's promised it. He and this Seraphim want the same things. Seraphim's just ever so slightly closer to my level… Which will make it a real shame when I take him out." Red Hood paused for a moment, looking back and forth between Spoiler and Nightwing, as if relishing that neither had interrupted him. "You should get away from these self-serving types, kid. Give my way a try. I'll even split some of my Seraphim profits with you."

The room stayed silent, and for a moment, one could almost be fooled into thinking Spoiler was considering his offer before she scoffed. "That's your problem, Hood. I work with Batman all the time. I take out thugs about every night… I know you couldn't have known when you said it, but I'm a former Robin myself. I know all about you. And you don't know a thing about me."

Red Hood slowly turned to Nightwing, who was now back on his feet and kicked one of the guns that had been forced from his hands towards him, picking up one of the other ones and sliding it onto his belt. "Hold onto it," he instructed. "I know you're not going to kill me, but I want it on my mind. You keep to the sidelines. Try and interrupt," he referred to his gun, "And I'll use it on her… No lethal force until then. I promise. This is way too interesting."

Nightwing looked down at the gun, gritting his teeth but not laying a finger on it. He hated playing by Red Hood's rules, but did not want to risk his teammate's well-being. "Ste- Spoiler… Spoiler… Kick his ass."

She nodded to him and again met Red Hood in battle. The two were now sticking strictly to punches and kicks, each managing to quickly and effectively dodge the other out as Red Hood continued to banter.

"Spoiler huh? Or did I hear him start to call you Stephanie?"

"How about you shut up and fight?" Spoiler demanded, blocking a punch, jumping to his side and jabbing him in the ribs, swiftly angered that she still couldn't seem to get through his armor.

"How's my old uniform look down in the cave?" He continued to jab, both with words and with his fists. "Hell, where do you even fit? They all say Drake's the third, yet he's out there in red and you're in purple."

"If you must know, I was temporary!" Spoiler huffed, raising her arm to block a kick to her head. At this point, there was no doubt about it: she was slowing down. Red Hood's armor and toying with his flaming gauntlet had allowed him to conserve much of his energy. Even with Nightwing waiting to offer assistance, her grip on the situation was slipping.

"And you weren't even acknowledged," Red Hood mocked. Spoiler managed to block his first punch but was unable to do likewise with the second, which painfully connected with her philtrum and knocked her onto her back, blood slowly beginning to stain the front of her mask, just under her nose. "That must have hurt."

Spoiler pulled her mask up past her nose to make breathing easier as she pushed back onto her feet, the hesitation that was already present in Nightwing only growing more grave. "I'll have you know I just recently beat the crap out of Scarab for a few similar remarks!"

"Scarab?" Red Hood chuckled. "Who the hell is Scarab? You wanna go obscure, you reference Magpie. You wanna go big, you go Blackfire." Red Hood had again closed the distance and was unleashing a barrage of punches, most of which Spoiler managed to dodge or guard against, but a few slipping past her, crashing into her face every so often. "And you wanna go painful, you talk to me about Joker beating you to death with a crowbar!"

Red Hood clenched the fist bearing his flaming gauntlet and sent the steel covering his fingers into Spoiler's face, again knocking her to the ground, gasping for breath and now wheezing in pain. "Maybe I was wrong. You _would_ be interesting if you weren't so pathetic."

"That's enough, Hood!" Nightwing yelled, throwing another wing-ding and colliding with his mask. "She's done for the night! Leave her alone and finish it with me!"

"Oh why? So I can do the same boring routine with you again? She and The Seraphim are the only ones keeping it interesting, and I'd have already killed all of them if their base wasn't so well guarded!"

Nightwing froze, "You've found their base?"

"That's for me to know, not you," Red Hood said, turning towards the struggling, bleeding Spoiler. "But I'll tell you. Provided you changed your mind about my offer."

Rolling with what little strength she had left, Spoiler faced him and spat at his boots. "You're no better than those jackasses you compared yourself to… Don't give Joker crap for killing when you do it yourself!"

Red Hood starred down at her, a fury almost instantly overtaking him with her remark. "You think I'm like the Joker?" He asked, the rage still mostly contained as he drew one of his last knives. "Is that what you think? Alright… Fine… One more bat girl who's never going to walk again!"

With that shout he plunged the blade into Spoiler's left knee. In less than a second there came screams of agony. Spoiler shook violently as screams dissolved into sobs and struggle to regain any sense of balance. Red Hood looked up to see Nightwing now had the gun raised towards him, an intensity like the villain had never seen in his former partner burning in his eyes.

"I said that's enough!" Nightwing roared, clearly unable to keep ahold of the gun in his own shaking in anger and disgust.

"Go ahead," Red Hood taunted, raising his own towards Spoiler. "Make my day."

Red Hood and Nightwing held their positions, guns in hands and places locked. So much so that Red Hood stopped watching Spoiler as he starred down his remaining opponent. With what was left of her strength, Spoiler managed to roll to his side, steal the last knife strapped to one of his boots, and return the stab in the back of the knee.

Red Hood had no way to know this was coming, and he let out a roar of his own as metal penetrated flesh. He turned to fire at the re-positioned Spoiler, but allowed Nightwing enough time to rush in and punch him in the face, knocking his final gun from his hand. Nighting let loose a flurry of punches across Red Hood's face as he limped closer and closer to the window, leaving a trail of blood in his wake as Nightwing perused him until he made it to the penthouse's shattered glass and jumped out from it, again crying in anguish as he drew his grappling hook and escaped into the night.

Any other time Nightwing would have pursued him. He was so close to capture, and he had even confirmed he had important information. But for the moment, he had a wounded soldier to tend to. Nightwing made his way to the still gasping Spoiler and pulled her mask off completely, allowing her to breath more easily.

"I won't bother asking if you're alright," he said. "Let me try to move you."

In spite of some more screaming and gasps, he managed to lift her as she continued to gasp desperately for breath. "It hurts!" She sobbed, clutching him tightly. "Oh God, Dick! It hurts so bad! Not- I haven't felt- Black Mask-"

"It's going to be alright," Dick assured, though even he wasn't sure of how true that was. "Yeah, I can carry you but I can't get you out of this penthouse." He continued in a hushed voice. "I'll call Bruce and the others. You don't even have a mask right now."

Nightwing put in his call, their family assuring them they would be there as soon as possible. Dick sat down next to Spoiler as she continued to fight for a real breath.

"You did amazing… You deserve to know that. I didn't expect you to fight him by yourself. And you did better than I could have ever hoped… Hang in there."

Within half an hour of compressing the wound, the other three arrived. As soon as they appeared, Robin ran to her and wrapped his arms tight around her as she let out a few quieter cries into his shoulder.

"What just happened?" Robin demanded, looking up at Nightwing. "She was supposed to be your backup!"

"Red Hood changed the name of the game on us… Speaking of which, don't drop any names. Cobblepot's locked himself in the bedroom."

"You let him do this?" Robin was still shouting.

"D-Don't yell at him," Spoiler said, regaining just enough composure. "It is-isn't his f-f-fault."

Until this point, Batman and Angel had both been watching the scene from a distance, Angel looking in horror and making repeated signs of the cross. "Go over there," Batman instructed. "I know you don't want to interrupt them, but you want to go. And she could use it too."

"Are you sure?" Angel asked.

"You're important to her. Maybe as important as he is. And if we're going to get her out of here, we need to get her stable…That wound is bad. Good God, if Jason severed a tendon… Go."

So Angel quickly went to join her friends and imitated the position Tim had taken, hugging her friend close to herself. As they both did, the shaking seemed to calm, even ever so slightly.


	30. Chapter 28

[Author's Note: I briefly but strongly considered putting a brief author's note here regarding my intention in the next few chapters, but decided we are _much_ better off without. Make of that contemplation what you will…]]

Tim and Cassandra were dismissed for the night, with a similar offer made to Dick, but he insisted they shouldn't be spread too thin. Batman was confident that with blows dealt to both Red Hood and The Seraphim back to back like that, the streets would calm, at least for the night, though each was still liable to answer his call should he request them again later.

So the two and the gravely injured Stephanie returned to Wayne Manor, Cassandra and Tim changing clothes quickly and then helping Stephanie. Every movement was still proving extremely painful as she struggled into a pair of sweatpants Tim had retrieved before they drove off again, this time to Leslie Thompkins' clinic downtown.

It was probably for the best that Bruce did not accompany the three here. Doctor Thompkins' once a valued friend of the Batman Family, and he had not been on speaking terms in some time. Though she ran a fine, if minimalistic clinic for citizens and vigilantes alike, Bruce's trust in her had been shattered. Even when her own transgressions were revealed to be misleading, it seemed he had not granted her forgiveness. Regardless of this, however, Tim and Stephanie knew she was the best resource they could turn to.

Dr. Thompkins eyed the three with something resembling frustration when Tim and Cassandra, with considerable struggle, supported Stephanie into one of the examination rooms. "Haven't seen you three in a while." She remarked, shutting the door and locking it behind her. "The doors are soundproof. The building's clean. Generous donation by the Wayne family a few years back. What happened?" She concluded, looking down at the bloody, misshaped bandage across Stephanie's knee. She would have spoken for herself, but after a minute of still nothing coming but deep, labored breaths, Tim interjected.

"Red Hood," Tim said. "The two crossed paths. She was just supposed to be Dick's backup. I have no idea how she-"

"I meant what the injury was," Thompkins asserted. "I'm not trying to be curt, but those damn Cherubs or whatever they're calling themselves keep sending us more injured people every night. So what happened to her knee?" She stepped forward and gently tried to undo the dressing.

"Stabbed," Stephanie managed to say. After another few breaths she gave the smallest hint of a smile and added, "Not as bad as delivery."

Thompkins ignored her as she examined the wound, grimacing a little. "I'll have to look over a few more things, but my guess is in addition to standard stabbing damage, he probably sliced your ACL. And if he managed that, you're really going to be out of costume for a while, Stephanie… Is your mother at home?"

"Night shift. Always is," Stephanie replied.

"You aren't going to be able to hide this one from her."

Within days everything was clear: Stephanie claimed she had obfuscated illness for two days to keep her mother from growing suspicious. That Thursday she slowly hobbled through school only to claim she had torn her ACL tripping while trying to catch the bus. Thompkins reluctantly agreed to cover her and explained to her mother the injury would probably require some tendon surgery in two months. Until then she was to exercise her leg, "But keep the strain _very_ minimal," Thompkins added, glaring at her to ensure her point was made.

Stephanie was of course desperate to fight this process, but Bruce had confiscated her costume after she had left it in the cave until she was well again. Her only consolidation, for the time being, would be Tim's promise to visit her while he was out on patrol.

…

Cassandra returned to Saint Michael's the day after, this time alone, but comfortable. She had returned to the church every Sunday for the last month, but this marked another Friday, and another opportunity to take part in Adoration. Entering the church was becoming routine as she stepped in, consecrated herself at the pool of holy water and selecting a pew towards the middle of the church, rolling the rosary she had received from Monsignor Ryan between her fingers.

She had plenty of sleep the previous night and, if anything, the church was now cold to the point that she didn't remove the jacket she wore in when she sat down. There would be no chance of falling into another beautiful dream at this Adoration, but Cassandra did not mind much. It was not important to capture that moment again, only to once more kneel and pray towards that piece of her lord. Though a few other worshipers came and went, she felt alone with the host contained in the front of the building.

Kneeling at first, as Tim had suggested, Cassandra looked on in introspection. Her mind had already turned to many things, but she tried to be straightforward while she was on her knees. _Jesus, thank you for being here. Again. Today, and every day. It was only a month ago I came, but everything feels different._ She smiled to herself a little at this thought. _Nice things look beautiful, the sky more blue, the grass more green. As if… I see your intention. It is wonderful._

_ I am unsure of what sins I bear today. Monsignor says we carry many, but I try to do your work. It has always made me happy… Though even that seems different now. More important, more precious._

_ You have brought me here. Guide me further. Bruce says I will soon convert fully. I will be baptized as you were. And then Tim said I can have Communion. I will truly be with you then. I cannot wait._

_ Guide me further. In the streets and in this church. I want to live as your child. I want, always, to feel your love. Thank you, amen._

With another sign of the cross, Cassandra sat down properly and bowed her head. Many thoughts and prayers crossed her mind over the next forty minutes, as she repeatedly thanked God for the wonder and goodness she felt and prayed for peace throughout Gotham. However, with every few prayers, her mind, of course, returned to Stephanie. The image of her dear friend, bleeding and shouting in pain seemed trapped in her mind, no matter how she tried to shake it. Of course it was lingering. Cassandra had said it herself: she loved her. And Stephanie had even said it back.

In the midst of these mental conversations and prayers, a tiny sound echoed through the church. She opened her eyes and looked at the other parishioners, who paid it no mind, but she was sure she could hear it. Something like footsteps, but quicker, and with some kind of clang against the ground- Cassandra suddenly came to a realization and smiled. She finished her prayer, excused herself (not to any of the other people within the church, but to the host) and walked towards the offices in the back of the building. The tiny footsteps were undoubtedly Snowball's.

Slipping the rosary back into her pocket, she seemingly repeated the same process from the day months ago, knocking on the door and the boisterous sound of Monsignor Ryan calling, "Come in!" She did so, seeing the priest feeding Snowball a treat from his hand. "Come in, come in. Shut the door if you could please." She complied as Monsignor Ryan pushed a few papers aside and looked up at her. "What can I help you… Wait… Have we met before?"

"Yes," Cassandra said.

"You look familiar, but I'm not sure from where… I'm terribly sorry, I don't know if we've been properly… Oh right! Yeah, I see you in here every Sunday nowadays, that's right! Yeah, you're that one young woman who doesn't take Communion."

"I do not," she confirmed. "I have not… _Wholly_ converted yet."

"Well do come in, do come in. Pull up a chair. Don't mind Snowball, he doesn't bite… You aren't allergic are you?"

"You asked me last time," Cassandra chuckled, offering a hand to the tiny dog, who seemed to recognize it instantly.

"I did? Wait… Did you come in here just once a few months ago?" She nodded. "Didn't actually think I'd see you again after the first week! How have you been Miss… Um… I'm terribly sorry, I don't remember your name."

"It is alright. Forgive me, but I lied about it the last time."

"You did? Why did you do that?"

"I did not want you to know I come from wealth." Cassandra said, stroking Snowball's head.

"You do? I mean, if I may ask."

"It is alright now. My name is Cassandra Cain." The priest nodded and then tilted his head a little, as if unsure if he had heard that name before when Cassandra decided to simply things further. "I misspoke. Cassandra _Wayne_."

That name The Monsignor recognized. "Wayne? You mean as in the Wayne family? Like _Bruce_ Wayne?"

"He is my adopted father." She confirmed. This revelation left Monsignor Ryan stunned for a moment.

"You're Bruce Wayne's daughter? I didn't even know he _had_ a daughter. I heard all about his adopted sons, I even know one of them-"

"He wanted less publicity," Cassandra replied, an easy statement to make, because it was what he had already insisted. "It was private. Please don't tell."

"Oh I won't tell a soul," Monsignor Ryan insisted quickly, still shaking his head. "Well I'll be… Bruce Wayne's daughter… Wayne's not a Catholic himself, is he?"

"No," Cassandra said.

"But he took in Tim Drake, right? You have an adopted brother named Tim, don't you?"

"I do," she confirmed.

"He was a great boy." Monsignor Ryan sighed. "And Janet was such a wonderful mother. I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed he didn't come with you."

"He says he will sometime soon," Cassandra said. "I have made him interested again."

"You made him interested? Funny, and here I thought it would be the other way around… Anyway, I'm very sorry to get so off track. How can I help you today?"

This was the part that she had not put much thought into. She wanted to make a request, but had to hope it did not appear too suspicious. She was obviously still trying to keep her identity secure. "I only want you to pray. For the state our city is in."

"I can assure you I do that every day," Monsignor Ryan said, looking down at his pet as he scratched behind his ears. "This is not an easy city to be working out of. But I do my best, I really do."

"Tim told me… Stories of how you came here." Uneasiness seemed to come over The Monsignor's face before she added, "I tell no one."

"Well, I suppose I know a family secret of yours and you know a few of mine then," Monsignor Ryan replied. "We should both keep it that way. I don't much like to talk about… Those times."

"I understand," Cassandra said. "It is so inspiring. That is all."

"Well, whatever good can come of it. The Lord works in mysterious ways, I suppose."

"I also wanted to ask you pray for my friend. Her name is Stephanie, and she was terribly injured. Tear in her knee."

"Goodness, I'm sorry!" Monsignor Ryan said.

"She is important. One of the reasons I started coming here."

"Is she a member of the parish?" Monsignor Ryan asked.

"No," Cassandra replied, "She is Methodist. Just very supportive."

"Well I'll give her my prayers. Of course I will. You sound very lucky to have her, Cassandra. And I am sure she's very lucky to have you."

Cassandra looked down for a moment at this thought, her mind again returning to alternations between the thoughts of happy times with her friend and her face, twisted in pain from that grave injury.

"She is my best friend."


	31. Chapter 29

As he had said, Tim had made a trip to Stephanie's house every one of the first five nights after her injury, staying until Bruce eventually called him away on outstanding business. It was a simple act, but it made her feel more significant and missed in the conflict, which encouraged her to keep up with the exercises in preparation for her surgery. Tim would comment about it when asked, usually by Cassandra, and insist that Stephanie was fine, just increasingly bored, and that the pain was subsiding.

Yet again The Seraphim and his forces were quieted, though a greater emphasis was now placed on tracking down Red Hood in the hopes that he was honest in saying that he had located his base of operations. In those few days, another uneasy calm seemed to creep over Gotham City. Even to the point that Bruce stopped trying to fight Cassandra when she resumed dressing in the Angel costume.

On the eighth of the month, a particularly uneventful evening, Cassandra decided she wanted to imitate Tim's actions, and, swinging over the streets she had trailed by memory, arrived at her friend's house. Tim's summary included that she had left her window unlocked, that her mother was always away working the night-shift at the hospital and that slipping in was a cinch. Without Bruce calling her anywhere in particular, Cassandra thought it good to share a little good will, and come as a surprise.

And yet as she headed for the house, Cassandra could not help but feel a restlessness about making this journey. She did not know why, in the times they were reading the Bible together it seemed like she had come a thousand times. It surely wasn't a matter of it just being the house, especially since it was empty except for Stephanie. So what was it that made her hesitant about this quick odyssey? She pushed the thought out of her head as she descended onto the roof of the house.

Stephanie, asleep in her room on the second floor, opened an eye as she heard the landing and slowly rolled over under her covers, peeking one eye open at the window. _Who was that?_ she wondered. Tim had already come for the night. When she could faintly make out the colors of Cassandra's whites and lavenders, it struck her, even if she had only seen her friend wear the costume once. She smirked, shut her eye and rolled to the opposite side, trying to contain a giggle. Rolling over and crying _Boo!_ at Tim had not worked when she tried on him the previous night, but she could surely get a laugh out of Cassie that way. For the time she would maintain the illusion.

Cassandra looked at her, sure she was fast asleep, and approached her slowly. "Stephanie? Are you awake?" She asked. No response. "Are you awake?" She asked again. Still no reaction. She sighed, pulled up the chair sitting at her desk, slipped off her domino mask, and looked down. "I feel stupid."

Stephanie was doing her best to keep contained, but failing to the point Cassandra ordinarily would have noticed the shaking of her body. On this night however, she didn't, and wasn't even looking at her. "I was quiet. I know… But when I saw you in that room… Scared and bleeding… I felt like _I_ was scared and bleeding."

At this point the little shakes and giggles calmed themselves, Stephanie even opening her eyes and making a confused face where Cassandra couldn't see her as she continued.

"Bruce said finding God made me find me… He may be right." She continued. "I told you first. I feel different. Changed. More… Connected." She fell silent as she contemplated what it was she was even trying to say. "I think I am those things, always have been. But never knew it. Least not this well."

"And love feels different. Even when feeling mad at Bruce, I know _why_ he tried to stop me. This costume, I mean. He wanted to protect me. Because he loves me. I love him too. And Tim fights with and watches out for me. He loves me, and I him. They were friends before, but must be family now… I believed before. Now I know."

Again she went quiet, Stephanie still unsure how or _if_ she should reveal herself. Cassandra was obviously trying to deal with some feelings she hadn't talked to anyone about before, but why did it seem so forced? Everything she had said so far was so positive. What was quieting her?

"And you. My best friend. I already said I love you. And you said it back. Thank you… But did I make a mistake? Because I feel wanting… Almost… Jealous…"

_Holy crap_, Stephanie thought to herself. _Does she have a thing for Tim? I mean, they aren't blood siblings but… I mean… I thought that's just what people on the internet thought she felt_-

"I might have been wrong… Maybe I do love you… The same way Tim does."

If Stephanie's mind was desperately seeking an answer before, everything came to a screeching halt when she said _that_. Stephanie's mouth went dry her heart sank, she was at a total loss for a reaction.

"But you love Tim. And he loves you. That is beautiful," Cassandra continued, clutching herself slightly, letting thoughts that had consumed her for too long out.

Bruce had not been incorrect in his assumptions about her conversion. The awakening of Cassandra's spirituality had, indeed, solicited a similar emotional emergence as well. Her experiences in prayer and especially during her first Adoration had brought her into better contact with her innermost feelings. After the years of being punished and delivered violence for trying to express and feel emotions, it was as if floodgates had been torn open upon her search for God. Everything felt more intense, every connection deeper than it had felt before, and this included her feelings about Stephanie.

"I do not want to separate you. I will not. You do not deserve to lose that because of me… I just do not know how else to feel. You taught me God and Jesus and heaven. You taught me true forgiveness… Even before that, you were never scared of me. You always wanted to be my friend. Always thought me amazing, no matter what I had done… How else could I feel?" Cassandra paused just long enough to wipe one of her eyes. How could I not love you?"

Stephanie remained too stunned to say anything. _What… What am I even supposed to say to that? God she… She just exposed everything to me. Why?! Maybe… Maybe she just had to let all of that out… She thought I was asleep, surely she doesn't think I heard any of that. Maybe I just need to stay like this. Not say anything. Maybe I won't hear about it again. Oh God, bless her heart, I can't believe this is happening._

"I am sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to say so much. I only came because I hope you feel better. We all miss you."

Cassandra took a few steps forward. She was only going to lay a hand on Stephanie's shoulder and wish her a healthy recovery, but she didn't get the chance. Unsure of what to do, Stephanie sat up in bed, threw her arms around her and hugged her close, a few tears forming in her eyes.

"Stephanie? You are awake?" Cassandra asked, suddenly shaken.

"Yeah," Stephanie said, the tiredness keeping her mind only half in place. "I was the whole time… I'm sorry Cassie, I didn't mean to make you say anything and I won't tell anyone! I was just going to make a joke about not really being asleep, but then you started talking and you said-" She paused when she saw the look on her friend's face, a bright red with a dash of confusion.

"I… I do not know I wanted you to hear…"

"I'm sorry I was faking being asleep. Like I said, I just didn't know how to react… I mean… Little bit of a bombshell there, don't you think?"

"Yes," Cassandra admitted, looking away. "I… It was hard to say… But harder to carry…"

"Cassie I… I didn't have to hear that," Stephanie said quickly. "I can just go back to sleep, right now… You feel whatever you need to feel, and we can say I was asleep. I won't tell anyone. Not even… _Especially _not Tim. I promise."

"That is kind," Cassandra said quietly. "I must speak to someone… Bruce maybe…"

"Uhh, Bruce is a place for good advice, but I don't know if this is really his… I mean, _really_ not his area of expertise."

"Perhaps Monsignor Ryan then-"

In a more conscious state, Stephanie would have reacted with more tact. She would have remained calm, perhaps come up with a lie or two, if necessary, and press on as if it was unimportant. But this was now the second most striking thing Cassandra had said all night. Nothing seemed capable of restraining her from shouting, "No!" When she mentioned it.

Naturally, this confused Cassandra instantly. Stephanie, upon realizing how she'd reacted, suddenly put her hand over her mouth. "Why did you say that?" Cassandra asked.

Regret began to overtake Stephanie, the intensity that had passed in the room picking up again, worse than ever. "I um… I'm sorry. I overreacted. No reason."

"Why did you shout no?"

"I… I mean just because he's… He's _old_, you know?" Stephanie stammered. "What would he know about any of this? He's a priest. Priests can't get married. He wouldn't know anything about this."

"He has been a teacher," Cassandra replied. "Maybe he will pray for me."

"Cassie, I'm serious. You don't even want that." Stephanie asserted, almost angry at herself for not responding better, her fears overtaking her. "I mean it. You can go to him but… But don't be specific! Don't tell him… Don't tell him what you told me."

"Why?" Cassandra asked, confusion and frustration beginning to build within her. "Tim said I will have to tell my priest everything… Except my identity. That is all. Why not this?"

"It's just… I mean… Cassie we sat here and read the Bible together!" Stephanie replied, exacerbated. "I know we didn't read the whole thing… Or even… Even the parts related to this. Crap."

"What?" Cassandra asked. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying don't tell Father Ryan what you just said to me!" Stephanie was now pleading.

"_Why_?" Cassandra was now demanding.

Stephanie did not know how to control herself any longer. The tension in the room, the argument growing ever more fierce, she didn't know what else to do. She didn't want to say it. And she certainly didn't mean to the way she did.

"Because it's a sin, Cassie!"

In that moment Cassandra froze, starring at her in disbelief as Stephanie lowered her face and burst into tears, clutching her forehead and struggling to regain her composure. After nearly two minutes of shocked silence, Cassandra again questioned, "What is?"

"What you said… You loving me Cassie. That's considered a sin," Stephanie said, unable to meet eyes with her friend again. "A girl loving another girl… The Bible says that's a sin… It isn't a sin to me!" She insisted, looking up at Cassie as her face remained blank and hollow. "It's not like that for a lot of people, I promise! But… But to the clergy… To someone like your priest… It is. And I don't want him to reject you because of it."

It was as if Cassie's being, in that moment, had been shaped from glass. Hands laboriously crafting it, meticulously making it beautiful and whole, only to be suddenly shattered into endless, unrepairable fragments. "You said… You taught me God loves everyone."

"He does, Cassie," Stephanie insisted desperately.

"You said we are supposed to love… That God wants us to love."

"He does!" She continued.

"But now. Because of… Of _this_… I sin by loving my best friend?"

"Cassie please," Stephanie begged. "It's not like that. I'm telling you it's not like that."

The two fell silent for a few seconds, save for Stephanie's pained sniffles, before Cassandra turned around.

"Please recover well… I have to go."

"No, Cassie please don't," Stephanie continued to beg. "I'm sorry I said that. We can still talk. I can… Let me try to fix this, let me try to-"

Before Stephanie could finish the though, Cassandra slipped her mask back on and rushed out the window, Stephanie trying to shout at her, but quickly retreating back inside when a few of her neighbor's lights came on, demanding to know where all the noises were coming from. She starred at her best friend until the white blur of her disappeared completely before shutting her window, falling onto her bed and sobbing into her pillow.

What did it mean? What did any of this mean? For the first time in months, squeezing the pillow tight, she began to pray by herself.

_God… Take care of her_.

…

As the Angel of the Bat grappled across Gotham's rooftops, desperately trying to make a dash back for Wayne Manor to try and process everything, her technique was notably sloppy. She missed easy grappling points, smashed her shoulders into the walls of a few buildings and struggled like she never had before to try and find her way. Such were these endeavors that they caught the eye of a single man in black, walking the streets and studying a few buildings for which might be vulnerable to attack.

He wasn't going to think much of it at first, but when he observed the way Angel's previously masterful movements now seemed disjointed and damaged, he pulled his phone out from his pocket and put in a call.

"Yes sir. We're on the East Side… I don't know where she came from, but something's definitely off. She's not gliding or jumping or any of that all that well. Something's wrong. But best of all, I can confirm it, she's all alone."

"Yes… Perfect," The Seraphim replied. "Send your boys in. Hold her there until I can arrive. I'm taking this one for myself."


	32. Chapter 30

Cassandra ran and grappled over a mile before she finally stopped to catch her breath, leaning against some nondescript brick building near Amusement Mile. She felt sick, holding onto her forehead and trying to make sense of the conversation she had just had. She found herself surprisingly thankful for Stephanie's injury. Once again, she wanted desperately to be alone.

Only a little more than a month ago everything made sense. She had been in Saint Michael's struggling to make sense of this once foreign idea of faith, and suddenly it completely washed over her. She was sure God had come to her to give her assurance, sure she was called like Moses in front of the burning bush. And then Stephanie had called her feelings sinful. How could the God and the Jesus she met in that beautiful dream fault her for those emotions.

Was that all it really was? A beautiful dream?

She had only meant to stop for a minute or two, but halted in place when she heard footsteps coming from both sides of the alley.

"Well, looks like we've finally got our fallen angel all alone."

Cassandra's hand went quickly to her mask to alert her allies, but as she switched on the radio function, she was presented only with a soft humming sound. Confused, she tried to switch to cellular, but found that crippled as well. Her eyes darted between the men dressed in black, entering now from both sides of the alley, two of them holding separate jammers tauntingly. At least a dozen were converging on her in the middle of the alleyway.

"We're the only ones who are going to save you now," one of them mocked. "Why don't you just stand down right now? The Seraphim's on his way.

Cassandra's eyes remained on the two jammers as she tried to force the thoughts of her talk with Stephanie out of her mind. If she could take those out, she could call in assistance. It wouldn't be necessary most nights, but on this one she was desperate to end the fight as fast as possible.

As they continued to cram the alley, The Angel made her first move. Rushing at the group on her right, she delivered an open palm to the closest man's face, sending him crashing backwards into the brick wall. The next man advanced, the tallest of the bunch and bearing a shaved head, whom she delivered a kick in the gut to and followed up with an uppercut, seemingly disposing of him.

Though her first two attacks had been well managed, she was still distracted by thoughts of her conversation with Stephanie, enough so that she failed to pay attention when one of the next men from the group grabbed the lid of a metal trash can and smashed it into her face. Angel shook, the pain of the blunt strike nearly putting her to the ground, but she resisted enough to rip the lid from his hand and bash him back with it. Three down, three to go. Or so she thought.

Just after dropping the lid of the garbage can, she felt a kick to the back of her left leg that knocked her to the ground with a cry of pain. The six from the opposite end of the alley and closed in from behind, and she was now on the ground and open to all of their attacks. From out of one eye she could see through the legs of her attackers, seeing two white shapes on the opposite end of the alley, as if guarding it. Her hopes sank further: they were Cherubim. If there were two on that end, there would surely be on the other side as well.

Escape would be impossible without taking every one of them out.

Still trying to force the questions out of her mind as she sustained a number of kicks to the stomach and face, Angel forced herself up, delivering several kicks to the nearest two and forcing them backwards. The taste of blood was fresh in her mouth, bruises quickly forming around her eyes. She had taken beatings before, but her few martial equals were always careful and meticulous in every attack. The Seraphim's servants were hardly different from ordinary thugs, and yet she was being defeated.

_What Stephanie said does not matter now_, Angel thought to herself. _I have defeated them before… God, my Lord. Jesus, my Christ… If you are with me, lead me through them_.

As attackers came from every side, fists and feet flying at her, she managed to reclaim some of her concentration. Angel jumped towards the wall of the building and kicked off of it, dodging out the many strikes, and began combating them again when she landed. There were too many to block all at once, so whenever a strike came, she forced it to the back of her mind, banishing it along with the thoughts of sin and beautiful dreams. She sent two of them crashing against the brick walls, grappled with others and even pounded two of their heads together. Attacks, dodges, blocks, hits, they all slowly melded together as she regained the advantage, desperately attacking and fending off whoever converged to the front of the group to attack her directly, even if she did earn some bruises and an increasingly loud ringing in her head whenever another from the group attacked her.

For a few minutes of this trance, she regained the advantage. Even the attacks that did connect hardly slowed her down as she moved from one opponent to the next. Within minutes of the melee, she had defeated ten of them. The last two, still clutching the jammers, watched in looks that turned from entertainment to fear and later to shock, as Angel stood up from the last of the ten, costume ripped, welts forming and spitting up a little blood but looking undeterred nonetheless.

As she was about to attack the last two, still unsure of how to overcome The Cherubim, the sound of clapping began to echo through the alley. She stopped in place, turned around, and watched as a third figure walked between two of the Cherubim.

"Such incredible power. Truly, the lord has blessed this little, lost sheep."

Out from the shadows stepped The Seraphim, stepping over the bodies of his fallen warriors. Angel tried to hold her stance, but after the beating she had already taken, there wasn't much she could do to combat the wobbling in her legs and the pain that was slowly resurfacing. These were not at all helped by The Seraphim's sheer size, as he towered over her, the two wings at his back extended as the two over his eyes kept him concealed. So far as she could see, he carried neither his sword nor his guns, but his tattooed physique was quite menacing enough without them.

"Be not afraid," The Seraphim said as the two met in the center of the alley. "I have come to deliver you. From darkness, into light."

The two remained in place after he stepped forward, as if studying one another. Angel looked him over, looking to the easiest place to deconstruct his armored vest. If she could just pry it down and get a strike at his heart, she could surely end the fight in an instant. Angel immediately went for the clasps on his shoulders.

The Seraphim's reaction was quick as he grabbed ahold of her head and sent her careering into the brick wall at their side. The spinning quickly became more violent as he pulled her from the wall and paused, as if letting Angel get her bearings. Though she still could not see clearly, she tried her best, again and again, to land a hit. The Seraphim dodged and blocked her casually when he didn't simply let her fists clash and, by the sound of them, crack against his armor.

"Such a desperate creature you are," The Seraphim said. "I could teach you how to use that power. And how to use that faith."

"Leave me alone!" Angel screamed, drawing a pair of batarangs and trying to slash at him, an effort The Seraphim evaded with ease.

"I don't know what happened to you. But _something_ did." He continued. "You went from the Bat's secularism to bearing a cross upon your chest… And right after I arrived. Do you think that coincidence?"

"You are a monster!" Angel insisted, trying now more desperately to land a single hit and, to her joy, managed to get a hand on and disconnect his left shoulder strap. The Seraphim paid this no mind at first, only raising a foot and kicking her in the face for her efforts.

"Angels have always been confused with monsters." The Seraphim replied, slowly approaching her again. "Even Gabriel, delivering the news of the Christ child, began by saying, 'Be not afraid'."

"You do not compare!" Angel thrust herself forward, unclasping the other shoulder and allowing her to rip The Seraphim's armor off. Before he could have any reaction, Angel forced all of her remaining power into her palm and struck him in the chest.

The alley went silent for a moment.

"Well. That was anticlimactic."

Angel slowly raised her head in horror at the lower half of The Seraphim's face, exposed and holding a sinister smile. "The lord says to protect your heart from evil. The church taught us how to take that quite literally."

It was only then Angel noticed a scar curving around his bicep. In a crazed frenzy, she attacked the spot over and over again until The Seraphim grabbed ahold of her hair and crashed her into the ground, blood and gravel filling her mouth.

"You are defeated… Rathbone!" Angel could barely see one of the remaining men in black hand him something as The Seraphim tore off her mask. When her vision cleared a little, her body too weak to move or resist any longer, she saw he was holding a knife, and gave out a last scream.

…

"Batgirl… Angel… Whatever you want me to call you, I need you to respond! Robin and I have been trying to get ahold of you for over an hour. What is going on out there?"

Batman let out a little sigh, already sure this demand would have the same result as the ones before it. Where in the world _was_ she? He wouldn't have been concerned, but according to Oracle, she'd dropped off the map entirely.

Batman and Robin searched and scoured the streets and alleys, looking for any sign of their comrade. It was only after Batman's last demand something was finally received. At first, a faint humming, and then sound in very low quality.

"Your angel is our angel now, Batman."

Upon hearing The Seraphim's voice in his cowl, Batman's blood began to run hot as fire. "Oracle! I just got a signal. Where the hell did it come from?!"

"It looks like it was-"

"Help… Me…"

Instantly the fires was quenched, and the place it had been built was instantly cooled to the point of freezing. "Bat… Angel?" Batman asked.

Her voice was weak, exhausted and defeated, as if every microsyllable of the word was a great labor to produce. She had only said the two words, but they ran right through his chest like a bullet.

"Bruce? Bruce! They're by an abandoned storehouse, right next to amusement mile!"

"I'm on my way," he said, anger overwhelming him as he ran as fast as could across the rooftops, commanding Robin to meet him at the scene before tuning back into Angel's frequency and roaring, "Don't you dare move! This ends tonight!"

At first there was no response, until again, in the fractured quality, The Seraphim said, "Your angel is our angel now, Batman."

"I heard you the first time!"

"Help… Me…"

Batman rushed into the batmobile and tore through the streets as the message repeated over and over. It was only when he stepped out and examined the blood stained alley that he realized why. Batman knelt down and found Angel's mask laying upon the ground, a phone playing The Seraphim and Angel's words on an endless loop next to it. Batman picked up the phone to find it frozen in this function. No amount of pushing buttons would close the message. It was now clear: The Seraphim and Angel were long gone.

And as he raised his head, Batman could see something attached to one of the telephone poles just on the opposite side of the alley. Forcing himself towards it, he suddenly realized it was a white piece of costume. There, held in place by a knife stabbed into the flagpole, was Angel's bat symbol, the area around it colored with drying blood.

"Your angel is our angel now, Batman."


	33. Chapter 31

Cassandra regained consciousness hours later, the taste of blood and gravel still in her mouth as she opened her eyes. She was in almost complete darkness, only just able to make out the metal bars containing her from the inside of her cell. As the feeling returned to her body, Cassandra felt the horror of her situation come over her. She was chained by her wrists, only just able to move her hands and fingers. Next she felt that her uniform had been removed at some point, and she must at some point have been forced into come kind of imprisonment uniform. With each new discovery her breath grew heavier and more distressed. She pulled and struggled against the chains, but they could not release their grip, no matter how she tried.

"I suppose you're finally awake then."

Cassandra turned to her right and was barely able to make out a human shape, sitting against the wall in an identical looking cell, his voice worn and gravely. "You were quiet when they brought you in… But you must be very important if they stuck you next to me."

"Who are you?" Cassandra asked, trying to get a look at him, the outline of a long beard coming into view as she approached him.

"I'm not really anybody anymore. I overheard a few things they were saying… They called you Batgirl. Is that true?"

Cassandra contemplated his question for a moment before deciding lying would do her little good and may even be detrimental to another prisoner. It wasn't as if he'd recognize her as a civilian anyway. "… Yes. I am."

"I used to see you on the television, years ago. I thought you were cute back then. Not enough redheaded heroes out there, I always thought."

"Red?" Cassandra asked. "I am sorry. I am not _that_ Batgirl."

"Ah. Fair enough then." The man replied, most of his figure still indistinguishable.

"It is dark. Hard to see," Cassandra remarked.

"It wouldn't matter if it wasn't. I'm blind," he retorted.

"I am sorry," Cassandra said.

"Don't be. You didn't do it."

In the midst of their conversation there came a loud _clang_ and a blinding light briefly overtook the room. Cassandra's eyes were struggling to adjust as two more figures entered and pressed something to two slots at the bottom of her and the other man's cell, sliding them through a flap. She paid it little mind. "Let me free!" She yelled at the figures as they approached the door again. She screamed it twice more before the door was again shut and she was again trapped in the darkness.

"They won't listen to you. He already owns them… If you aren't the stubborn type, you should eat your food and just get it over with."

"What?" Cassandra asked.

"The initiation. The food is drugged, it'll start wrecking your senses within a few days. That, combined with the mist, and you'll belong to this place inside a month."

"How long have you been?" Cassandra asked.

"Years now… Because I learned how to sniff out those damn drugs." Cassandra saw the bearded man approach the food that had been slipped through his slot, raised a cup of broth to his nose with his right hand and sniffed it. "Oh yes. It's heavy in here… I'd have starved to death if they didn't want to keep me alive so badly." He overturned the cup and emptied its contents onto the floor. "Go on hunger strike for about a week and they'll start alternating between fresh and drugged… If you've got the nerve for it."

"Why are they keeping you alive?" Cassandra asked. "And where are we?"

"This? This is a dungeon, built below the Church of the Voice of God. Where _that_ is I have no idea," he replied. "They keep me alive because their bastard of a leader is intent on breaking me. For five years now I've been exposed to his work, but have yet to surrender… I'm alive because my death would be an embarrassment to these psychopaths. So they treat me as a test in patience. That sooner or later, my will will break and I'll profess to their twisted idea of God and morality."

"Are you religious?" Cassandra asked.

"Never was. Grew up agnostic before I was dragged here… How about yourself?"

"I thought so," Cassandra said, clutching herself for warmth. "I am not so sure now."

"I wasn't taught to believe any of this before I was brought here. Always thought there was something severely wrong about a loving deity who told his servants to capture others and give them the choice between death and conversion."

"I never saw God like that," Cassandra said.

"Yeah? Well as you can see, some people do," the man said, sliding against the wall again. "God the great and mighty, promising a kingdom of greatness to his followers… After he didn't leave them any proof and a couple of vaguely written books to go off of. Everybody else gets to just burn in hell."

Cassandra dipped her face into her hands, struggling to comprehend the state she was in. "I never believed in hell… We talked about it but… But I thought we were supposed to hope in redemption, not pray for suffering."

"Oh hell is my favorite part, Batgirl," the man sneered. "Because if there really is any justice out there, than I can hardly wait until Dan falls over, dies, and falls into that damn pit!"

Cassandra double took at this. "Dan… You know The Seraphim's name?"

"Of course I know his name. I was raised with that ungrateful bastard! He's my younger brother!"

Cassandra starred at the bearded shape in shock. "Joshua? Joshua Lebowitz?"

The man approached her, standing at the barrier between their two cells and said, "Well, I suppose you know my real name… So what about yours? Because Batgirl is just a little to surreal, even for this place."

Again, she wondered what she could have to gain from sharing that information with him, but also could not figure anything she could lose. "… Cassandra."

"Well Cassandra he said, lifting his left arm to reveal it had been amputated at the elbow. "Welcome to the kingdom of God. Where if your hand causes you to sin, they slice if off." He lowered himself to her level as, with shock, she noticed his eyelids stitched shut, "If your eyes cause you to sin, they pluck them out. And when they realize I told you about the drugs in the food, they'll probably decide I've used my tongue to sin."

Cassandra looked at him, the feelings of sickness and horror amplified with every word he had said. "What… What is all of this? How can this be?"

Joshua again leaned against the wall and sighed. "It began nearly twenty years ago…"


	34. Chapter 32

"Like I said, agnostic household growing up. Sometimes we'd go visit my grandparents for Chanukah or Yom Kippur, but even they knew that was more tradition than anything. 'Be a good boy, and grow up to be a good man. That's your religion', my father used to say."

After hours, perhaps even a day kept in darkness, Cassandra could no longer tell, light was again introduced into the holding chamber. Accompanied by two Cherubim, a single man came up to her cell, unlocked it and grabbed her by the chains that locked her hands together. As soon as she could Cassandra tried to struggle. She kicked and sloppily swung her chained hands, getting a few strikes in before one of the Cherubim grabbed her by her frayed black hair and crashed her into the wall. "Keep at it. You're only making this harder for yourself," the man sneered. And with that the three led her away.

"I don't know what made us appealing to that monster… If I had to guess though, he wanted to make an example out of us. You don't make an impact being predictable. You do so by betraying expectations. Blackfire wanted to groom the perfect messiah, and he just chose two innocuous Hebrew boys to do it."

Through the halls of the underground fortress Cassandra was led, at one point getting a brief glimpse inside a gigantic chapel, a towering stained glass image of a blonde haired Mary, garbed in royal violet and cradling the infant Jesus in the room's center. Onward they continued to lead her, too exhausted and hungry now to resist, until they arrived at a room that, upon opening the door, was revealed to be pure white, a man dressed in preacher's clothes standing in the center.

"I don't even know what he did to first dig his claws into our father. He was a higher-up at Gothcorp, and this was before their reputation was destroyed by Freeze. Maybe Boyle had dirty business to cover up way back then too. I can only imagine… That's irrelevant. Blackfire had an in with the company, and he used it to threaten all of our lives. All we had to do to secure our safety, was begin attending his church."

"I've heard a lot about you, little girl," the preacher said in a mocking tone as she was locked into a chair in the room's center by the Cherubim. "Oh yes. The Seraphim has big plans for you… It is rare a woman is welcomed into our ranks. Yours is a deceitful, weak-minded kind… But there are exceptions to every rule."

Cassandra's mind returned to Stephanie's remarks about Abimelech and, never being one to be defeated without absolute defiance, copied her statement. "Sexist pig." The preacher punched her across her already bruised face for the statement, but she refused to regret it.

"My father returned to us, trying to maintain a facade of happiness when he delivered the news we would begin being a religious household. That he had discovered God and Christ and we'd even be attending a very special church. All we had to do was board the subway at just the right time, ride it a few miles, and our fellow parishioners would show us the rest of the way… Blindfolded, of course. My brother wasn't a very smart kid, and he bought it almost instantly. But I knew something was wrong. Very wrong. I'm sure Mom did to, but I wasn't present for those conversations."

"Your seeing the sun again is a very simple process," the preacher said. "All you must do is proclaim the Lord Christ as your savior, and that you owe that salvation to The Church of the Voice."

"I already accepted Jesus," Cassandra said. "Though I may not anymore."

"Oh? And why is that?" The preacher asked.

Once more, Cassandra saw no purpose and found no energy for lying. "I was told it was sinful to love my best friend. Because she is a woman."

At this remark, the preacher slapped her across the face. Even attacks that she could normally ignore stung horribly now, but Cassandra fought to not show an ounce of give. "Further proof of your weakness! God has gifted you with the gift of life, and to _give_ life, and yet ones such of you continue to come into this world. Driven by the lust of Satan himself, that has infected this entire horrible city!"

"The new recruits to the church were locked in a room, one at a time, with Blackfire himself, after we'd attended the Sabbath mass. I never even knew where they all came from… Dozens of children, almost all of them boys, would obediently wait in line to enter that room. I used to wonder if he had somehow blackmailed all of their parents too. Blackfire would explain to us what we were to belief. If we were belligerent, we would be punished. At first physically, and then, if we continued, with what was called, 'The Mist'."

Cassandra could barely keep track of every misanthropic word out of the preacher's mouth. Every sentence was riddled with 'hell' and 'damnation' and 'Satan'. She knew every one of these words, but had never heard them given such weight. With every mere look of defiance, the preacher struck her again, still railing on how weak she was, how only God could ever make her anything of worth. "I am not the one attacking a chained prisoner," Cassandra remarked, struggling to keep her right eye open upon beatings and bruisings.

With a last strike, the preacher remarked, "Talking never breaks them. The Mist will open your eyes. Rest assured." And with that, the preacher disappeared behind the door, leaving Cassandra alone in the wholly white room. In solitary, the room's complete silence and lack of color slowly beginning to feel unnerving.

There then came a small, sizzle like sound, and then there came a flash in front of her. It was some collection of nonsensical shapes, projected in black on the white wall from somewhere she could not see. The air in the room began to grow moist, and she reeled in disgust when she got a first, burning smell. She began to wheeze in pain, trying to focus, unsure of just what she was dealing with. And, at last, there came a high, sharp whistling sound, unhearable under normal circumstances, but too clear locked in the otherwise silent room.

"I have no idea what it is, some kind of liquefied drug cocktail. It assaults your senses. Rips you apart… The pain is hell, but it's only just the beginning. It's the conditioning that wrecks you."

As the burning smell entered her nostrils, Cassandra could feel her head beginning to spin. The seemingly random shapes upon the screen began to move and dance about. She stared in confusion as her body began to go numb, followed shortly thereafter by a sudden rush of fire all through her being. Though she had tried to resist the preacher and the room, the burning was digging deeper into her core as sweat dripped from her temple, the black shapes on the screen suddenly bearing all sorts of colors.

Some kind of loudspeaker began to play a recorded message as Cassandra continued to pull and struggle against the chains. "There is only one way to freedom." The voice, certainly The Seraphim's, began. "Only by the grace of the Lord God almighty will you ever escape this bondage… And escape the fires of hell!"

The screen instantly began to flash red and black, Cassandra's eyes growing wide in horror and, buckling under the overload to her senses, began to scream, shutting her eyes tight. The reds and blacks were not simply colors, they bore images of violence and death, and yet she could not identify why. There was no sign of human life upon the screen, just constant showings of shapes and blots of ink, but as they continued to attack her eyes, she could make out blood-like stains, formations of fire and jagged spires containing them.

"Behold the flames!" The Seraphim roared. "This is death! This is destruction! This is what suffering is, child! God has formed this wasteland for the ilk of the earth, and he has sent _us_ to purge the world of these scum! You have been offered a chance to escape this torment. To escape _their_ torment!"

And with that declaration, the screen began to flash new images, these ones of men, women and children sobbing in despair, every one looking as if it was a black and white photograph splattered and colored in part with blood. Each flash continued to wear on Cassandra, as she fought the mental assault and tried to look away with all her might, but somehow, The Seraphim's scream of, "Look forward!" forced her eyes back on the screen. To any normal human being, the images would be horrific. But to Cassandra, who had felt death as it overwhelmed her only victim, years ago, she felt ripped limb from limb as the whistle continued to accent her suffering. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her mouth hung slack as she screamed in agony with every new call from The Seraphim and every new flash of anguish.

"Our parents were never subjected to it. Blackfire wasn't interested in them. He only wanted to create his little messiahs. He threatened our lives if we ever told anyone… Dan seemed to take it all in stride. I have no idea how, but he seemed to absorb everything they inflicted on him with ease. Blackfire used to tell me how much more impressed with him he was in comparison to me… Like I said, my parents didn't know the truth. If they did, they would have forced us out of Gotham as soon as possible… But I could only keep those horrors a secret for so long. Eventually, I could take no more."

Dripping in sweat and drool, Cassandra desperately gasped for fresh air amongst the sting of the burn. As the screen again went white, The Seraphim said, "There are many who deserve to burn in hell. But there are a select few God has chosen to be worthy, not to suffer, but to revel in his greatness and love… The only requirement, is to deliver the evildoers into the abyss."

"I told my parents of the way Dan and I were suffering under Blackfire. Of the torturous methods he was using to force us to pray for the damnation of our own unconverted family, and that someday, we would follow him into glorious battle and help tear Gotham City apart. My mother didn't believe me, but Dad had already felt quite enough of the madman's wrath. Only Dan tried to fight it when he commanded we pack our bags and leave that night. It was only sixty minutes later, my mother trying to convince him to get up and move, that there came a knock on the door… And whoever was on the other side killed my parents in two quick gunshots."

Cassandra was left alone, feeling ruined and defeated, for half an hour before the door was opened and she was led out again by the chains trapping her hands. This time, she offered no resistance.

"Some tiny part of me hoped it would at last mean freedom from that nightmare. We had no family living in Gotham, when one of our uncles came, he was sure to lead us out of that city and away from that dreaded church forever… We just had to wait it out in the Saint Enoch orphanage… That should have been obvious enough…"

Cassandra was thrust back into the cell next to Joshua, who was eating a slice of crusty bread and drinking from a cup. As she approached her own tray of food, he remarked, "Give it another day. That stuff is drugged. You can have a little of mine if you are still so determined… Now, where was I…?"

"From the moment we entered the doors of the orphanage, I knew something was very wrong. I recognized every child kept within, they were the exact same lot that I would see being locked in the room with Blackfire… And are _still_ the same ones to this day. At first I thought my parent's death a horrible coincidence, but all of these fellow orphans made it clear. Blackfire's hands were stained with the blood of all of their parents too."

Cassandra, heaving with exhaustion, tried desperately to steady a hand on the water Joshua slipped through the bars before she collapsed out of weakness and fell unconscious for the night.

"We spent five years under his influence before he killed our parents and another five trapped by him pulling strings in that orphanage. I began to despair in that time… While Dan only grew more and more excited. It was utterly horrific, the way that man managed to shape him… Until, at last, a decade into his grooming, Blackfire made his ultimate mistake."

The next day, she was again led away by the chain. Again attacked and ranted to by the preacher, and again forced to view the images that had so horribly violated her mind.

"We were both brought into his chamber that day, that room of pure white. He congratulated Dan for his incredible devotion. That the way that he was about things, he would surely claim the church for himself. He only required one, final, demonstration. And with a quick overpowerment, Blackfire chained me to that chair in the room's center."

Days continued to go by like this, each beginning to melt into the next as Cassandra struggled desperately to keep her mind in one piece. With each return to the cell, barely eating enough to keep herself alive, she became weaker and weaker. The Mist slowly killing her.

"He handed Daniel a knife and commanded that he kill me. Only by spilling my soiled, unworthy blood would he prove he was capable of doing for the church what was truly necessary. To even my shock, Daniel refused, even as Blackfire forced the blade into his hand… And then he slashed his throat in retaliation… I heard talk of another Blackfire a few years thereafter, but I wasn't in Gotham at the time… Surely it could not have been the same zealot…"

On the fifth consecutive day within the white room, something changed. As Cassandra sat, bracing herself from the nightmares of The Mist, she found herself writhing and screaming before the moisture even came. She was only allowed a moment to ponder this before the images began to flash and The Seraphim began to preach, faster and stronger than ever. Somehow, they were perfectly emulating the effect of The Mist without even using it. The purpose of the sharp whistle was now revealed: it was conditioning her mind to associate the assault with the sound. Cassandra could now only continue to look on in terror as her mind commanded the release adrenaline and other hallucinogens simply in response to the near-inaudible whistle.

"I hoped against every chance that Daniel had awoken to the evils around as. As we ran from the bleeding Blackfire, I was sure he was dead. Sure we could just leave that life behind forever… It was only when I ended up in here that I realized Daniel only refused to kill me because he felt he wasn't subservient to Blackfire any longer."

Days continued to fade in that darkness. Nothing made any sense anymore.

"I was given a few years of relative bliss… I did everything in my power to save my brother, even going so far as to have him stuck in Arkham Asylum, hoping in vain they could put him back together… Or maybe just keep him locked up... As we know now, they failed. Blackfire was looking to create an army, and through Daniel, he created one. Throw in a few stupid stories about being descended from some famous religious maniacs and the members of the church will take anything. Those who refuse to cooperate are stuck in those costumes and helmets, hearing that damn whistle for the rest of their days as they fall apart, their minds devouring themselves, and they fall down and hail The Seraphim as their master."

"Is that true?" Cassandra asked. "Is that what those helmets are?" Joshua nodded. She contemplated this with the last of her strength for the day before asking, "Is that what… His helmet is for too?"

"It is." Joshua said. "Dan is addicted to The Mist. The way it causes all others suffering, it causes him absolute ecstasy. He, very literally, does not see a dirty city in need of a savior… He sees demons walking through every street, bloodstains upon brick and mortar. He sees nothing but Sodom and Gomorrah waiting to be destroyed anew. And now, after all of those years of waiting, he's ready for that great deliverance."


	35. Chapter 33

A single man in black remained conscious amongst his fallen allies, a gloved hand threatening to crush his windpipe as he stood, shaking in terror, alone against the Dark Knight and two of his partners, especially contrasted against the fresh, white snow that was slowly blanketing the ground.

"I'm going to ask you again," Batman snarled. "Where is your base of operation?"

"Screw you!" He barked back. "I'm not telling you a thing."

Batman pulled him briefly from the wall only to smash him head-first into it again, now demanding, "Where is he!?" Before continuing, "He took one of mine, and I don't care how many of you I have to break to find her again!"

"I've been around the place since they got her," his opponent sneered with a wheeze. "She howls… Louder than anyone I've ever heard before… He he he-"

The next crash knocked him into unconsciousness as the flash of police lights consumed the alley. Batman, Robin and Nightwing stood over ten of the defeated lesser servants and two Cherubim with their masks torn off. The three were bloody and sore, as a result of a now week-long campaign attacking any members of the church they could find and continuing to desperately seek out some sign of the Red Hood. Trying to simply follow the grunts had proven ineffective any time they slipped into one of Gotham's subway stations, as even trailing them in civilian garb only led to them disappearing into crowds. Any attempt to attach trackers was met with a malfunctioning signal before an idea could even be formulated.

"This is crazy," Nightwing muttered. "I've never seen a group with so little give. We keep on pounding on them and they don't say a damn thing. It's ridiculous."

"You've never been threatened with hell," Robin replied. "You wanna scare somebody straight, you convince them that they'll be tortured for all eternity if they betray you. That's why they won't say a word. They're too horrified of the eternal consequences."

"Which is why we need to find Red Hood, as soon as possible" Batman said.

"If only it was that easy," said Nightwing. "Spoiler stabbed him from behind, he may be just as out of commission as she is, and if that's the case it could be months before he's in shape to turn up again."

"If he's tact enough to care for that injury properly. Which I doubt," Batman replied before bringing a hand to his cowl. "Oracle, what's the position on our backup?"

"Huntress is already in town, you'll probably cross paths with her sooner or later. I managed to get ahold of Dinah and Zinda, they'll be there in the next day or two…I thought it might take some convincing, but Dinah wanted me to report that when you mess with one of us, you've messed with _all_ of us."

"Good," Batman said solemnly. "Anything on Hood yet?"

"No. I'm guessing his contract with Penguin must have been terminated. He's dropped completely under the radar. I was able to hack a few records at the Gotham public library and someone was constantly trying to do a search on treating a stab in the knee, but that was days ago. I'm sorry, I only just thought of it."

"Whatever it takes to find him. They might not own up to what's going on, but I at least have some chance of getting inside his head."

The three began to depart from the scene, Nightwing remaining back with Robin. "Hey, so how is Steph taking this whole thing? I mean, it can't be sitting well, with her both out of commission and _this_ coming up."

"Yeah, its been really rough," Tim said. "Hopefully we'll find Cassie here soon and we can all breathe a little easier again. I can't even believe how much this has blown up in our face… I'm going to splinter off and check on her for the night. You guys know where to find me."

…

The creak of the door leading out of the darkness rose Cassandra from another night of restless, agonizing sleep. She opened her eyes, squinted and stained in salt and bruises, as The Seraphim stepped in from the blinding light on the door's opposite side.

"I thought it important to step in on my most valued guest," he said coyly, stepping into the chamber's center.

"I'm simply humbled," Joshua retorted.

"Keep your mouth shut, mosquito," The Seraphim said, paying him little mind.

"You go to an encyclopedia for that one?" Joshua asked. "I'm not the only Hebrew in the room."

The Seraphim ignored him as he proceeded to Cassandra's cell, standing at her opposite with what would be a satisfied glare if his eyes were visible. "Have you decided to swear your allegiance to The Church of the Voice yet, little girl?" He asked. Cassandra said nothing as he let off a little chuckle. "Give it some time. You'll break. Sooner or later, they all break. Let's see how much progress you've made." He slipped a hand into his pocket, producing a small object, not unlike a pager, and pressing the button in its center. Instantly the sound of that horrid whistle tore through the room. Cassandra was instantly brought to her knees, desperately clutching her hands over her ears before The Seraphim commanded "Uncover them!" and, for reasons she could not understand, she complied.

When next The Seraphim spoke, his voice sounded as if it was under heavy distortion. "Face me," the almost demonic voice commanded and, still feeling broken by every command, Cassandra looked up at him.

The Seraphim's already imposing form began a nightmarish mutation with every word. The inside of his mouth appeared full of magma, his lips curving downward as if to form spikes like a Jack-o-lantern. The wings covering his eyes parted as he knelt down to look at her, revealing two bright, red eyes that formed into seemingly bottomless spirals. He raised a scaly, clawed hand up to the bars of the cell and let out a hiss as Cassandra screamed in horror.

"Be not afraid," The Seraphim said, his eyes appearing as if they penetrated her very soul. "I offer you deliverance. I offer you clarity." He open the cell and slowly approached her, as Cassandra tried to back away, but her back was quickly met with wall. The monstrous Seraphim took ahold of her by her shirt and thrust her against it, snarling in her face as her eyes met the infinite abyss of his own. **"I offer you salvation!"** He roared as she continued to shake before forcing a little struggle out of herself. Even with her wrists chained, Cassandra tried to throw punches at his face, resorting to trying to claw at it when she failed and trying to kick him anywhere she could possibly land her feet. Though she was sure she felt the metal of his helmet, she saw her fingers scraping against skin, leaving several open cuts that, to continued disgust, began to chant in unison with The Seraphim's mouth.

**"I am The Seraphim. I am descendant of the angels themselves. I am the voice of God. You will surrender to me. You will surrender to the lord almighty."**The Seraphim raised his hand and clutched his fingers, the fire bursting forth from his palm now shining a dozen different, fearsome colors all at once. **"Or I shall personally thrust you into the fires of Hell!"** The flame came within inches of Cassandra's face, close enough to evaporate the beads of sweat dripping from her temple. **"Join me, return to God almighty. Or you. Will. BURN!"**

"This crazed cult of yours didn't keep you from burning."

Cassandra's eyes turned to Joshua, as even through his permanently shut ones he seemed to glare at his brother. To Cassandra's surprise, this broke The Seraphim's focus, and as he turned to shout at Joshua to keep quiet, the cuts upon his face appeared to heal somewhat, the wings on his helmet lowering to again cover his eyes. When he wasn't starring right at her, he suddenly lost much of what made him intimidating.

In a desperate showing to prove she would not be conquered, Cassandra forced herself up while his back was turned, grabbed ahold of her chains, and attempted to attack him with him, clanging the metal against his armored vest and using the links to throw a few punches before he turned back towards her, returning to his hideous form, and shoved her again against the wall before locking the cell and departing, promising her that her conversion was far from over.

Cassandra clutched herself and shut her eyes tight as her mind worked the horrible whistle sound out of itself. She was ready to cry again, until she heard Joshua address her.

"Did… Did you just attempt to fight him? Did I hear a struggle?"

Cassandra nodded, though remembering he was blind, said, "Yes."

Joshua appeared to be stunned by this. "I've known grown men… Former cops some of them… Broken by that whistle like it was nothing. But you… Batman taught you to fight off a mental attack that masterfully?"

"I suppose," Cassandra said, trying to stabilize her breathing. "But what good is it? I… I am only extending my suffering…"

"Yes…" Joshua said quietly, turning to the door, almost as if looking at it. "Only extending your suffering… Tell me… What else did Batman teach you how to do…?"

…

On the eighteenth of the month, seventeen days after his injury, Jason Todd sat almost alone in the Gotham Public Library, scanning through articles online and occasionally rubbing uneasily at the back of his right knee. He didn't look suspicious, his greasy black hair forced under a baseball cap and wearing a simple winter coat, but he had long grown accustomed to constantly checking behind his shoulders. The library was mostly dead, save for a few mothers and their young children, a blonde haired girl in a green jacket and the various employees sliding books back into place.

He would never have guessed it would be so difficult to just figure out how he had injured his leg, but he was slow to seek any medical help. Even having read up on Leslie Thompkins' clinic and its policy to accept anyone, even in costume, he knew Thompkins was a friend to the Wayne family. He was not looking for an excuse to get their attention, especially since they and Cobblepot were all hunting him.

Jason closed his browser and turned off the monitor, planning to return after he made a trip to the bathroom. Upon his return, he noted the girl in the green jacket had left, cracked his knuckles for a fresh round of searches and turned the monitor back on. It took him several minutes to even notice the fact that a notepad application had been opened and minimized. Wondering when he had opened it, Jason clicked on it to find a note written to him in purple:

"Roof of the Carter Theater. 12 AM. Come in costume. I'll be alone. You do the same.

Sincerely,

The Other Worst Robin."

Jason's eyes dashed in the direction of the door, looking for a sign of the green-jacketed blonde but she was already gone. At first he frowned, but after a moment of reflection a smile creeped across his face.

He'd be there, he was sure of it.

…

In the midst of another wrap of darkness, Joshua again spoke to Cassandra. "I said little of it at the time… But your resistance was absolutely masterful."

Cassandra thought little of it. "… Thank you…"

"I've been trapped down here for years, known many who have tried to combat the effects of The Mist and that whistle. You may be the most impressive case I have ever observed."

Again, Cassandra replied with a hollow, "Thank you."

"So much so… That you might actually have a chance at escape."

At this Cassandra turned towards him. "What do you mean?" She asked.

"How big are you? I mean, are you short for your age? Thin?"

"Five foot five. One-ten," she said, having memorized it from old measurements Bruce had taken.

"Yes… That is almost ideal," Joshua muttered.

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked again.

"Escaping from this pit is nearly impossible, but there must be an entrance, right? I know where it is. Or one of them is, anyway. I used to see Blackfire and Dan use it, back when I had my eyes. Within the chapel, obscured behind the back wall, which is all stained glass, is a stairway. It leads up into the exit, back onto the surface. It is for private use, probably completely unguarded. I know there are other entrances, and all of them are well reinforced, but that one is nearly undetectable from the outside. If you could get to it, you may be able to make it out of here."

"But how?" Cassandra asked. "There are many other guards. I cannot even get free from this cell."

"If I could get my hands on that whistle machine, we can probably throw the rest of my brother's men into a frenzy," Joshua said. "There is a reason he locks them in the misting room one at a time. They'd lose all control if they just heard it at random… All I would need to do was get it off of his person and trigger it. You've shown you can fight off its effects."

"Not well," Cassandra pointed out.

"Better than anyone I've ever seen," Joshua assured her.

"Even still, how could I get into the chapel?" Cassandra asked.

"The way that it almost happened last time," Joshua replied. "You think I'd bring all this up if I hadn't tried it before? How do you think I lost my hand?" Cassandra gasped. "Yes… I tried this method myself…"

"What happened?" Cassandra asked. "How did you get to the chapel?"

"All I had to do was tell Dan that I was ready to join his cause. He was so overwhelmed with his victory that he invited everyone, prisoners included, to attend my conversion that Sunday… Just like Blackfire, he had a final test for me…"

"A captive and a knife?" Cassandra asked, Joshua nodding.

"I don't know if you know, but Dan's got a scar right next to his heart…That was me. I also managed to tear off one of his gloves and leave a nice set of marks right on his face before the congregation overpowered me… He only started calling himself The Seraphim to justify that it was God's will, not mine, that burned him so horribly." Cassandra starred at him, hardly able to believe his tale. "I nearly killed him that day. I have no idea how he got his heart working again, but that should have been the end of it… But I am sure. If I gave him a chance to see my conversion, now that I am blind and one-handed, he would surely enact the same foolishness again."

Cassandra contemplated his words for a moment before saying, "I could only save myself."

"There is nothing left for me out there," Joshua said. "I am blind. I am weak. I am waiting at death's door… This is the last chance I may ever have to fulfill my father's words… 'Be a good boy, and grow up to be a good man. That is your religion.'." Joshua fell silent for a moment before he turned, almost pleading towards Cassandra and said, "Please. This is my last chance. It is all I have left… Do not let him take that religion away from me."

…

A little after eleven, a single body slipped through Wayne Manor undetected. Though normally impenetrable, the intruder had long since learned the secrets to slipping in and out. A little toying with the grandfather clock in the study revealed the staircase down into the Batcave. It continued onward in complete silence, until it approached Cassandra's discarded Batgirl uniform.

"You know Master Wayne will not approve of this behavior, Miss Brown."

Stephanie sighed as she turned and faced Alfred, standing on the other side of the cave.

"I don't suppose I can convince you to turn the other way, can I?" Stephanie asked.

"Nor should you," Alfred replied. "Breaking and entering, what appears to be an act of theft… If you wanted your own uniform back, you should have just asked, though I haven't had the chance to sew it yet and you are in no place to play hero with that tear in your knee."

"I wasn't going to go out as Spoiler," Stephanie replied. "If any of The Seraphim's goons see me, I want them to think they've seen a ghost."

"But you surely aren't going to try and confront them, are you?"

"No," Stephanie said, reaching and grabbing the Batgirl uniform. "I have business with someone else… And I said I'd be there alone… If you tell Bruce, you'll botch my whole operation, and then we may never find Cassie."

Alfred raised in eyebrow at this. "You've found Jason?"

"I even gave him a meeting place. He's injured too, there's no way he'd come if he didn't know it was me… Don't you get it Alfred? He thinks I'm weak _and_ he wants revenge! It's the only bait he could possibly take!"

Alfred starred at her as, without a word of consent, she disappeared behind one of the walls, testing the stretch on the uniform and managing to slide into it with little difficulty, only pausing to cut a hole in the back of the cowl to let her hair through.

"You're still injured, Miss Brown," Alfred remarked. "And if Master Bruce were to discover this venture of yours, I am sure your termination from these forces would hardly be the place he would stop… He fears for you, greatly, and if he learns you're doing something this foolish, I am beyond sure he will never permit you out on his streets again. I am asking you, for your sake, Stephanie, not to do this."

"But I also know you won't stop me," she said, stepping back into the cave, garbed up to her neck in Cassandra's batsuit. "And all I can say is thank you for that."

"Master Wayne does care for considerably, Miss Brown," Alfred sighed.

"He just has a hell of a way of showing it," Stephanie retorted, pulling on the cowl. "I have a meeting to go to. Thank you Alfred."

As Stephanie began to ascend the staircase back into the manor, Alfred quietly contemplated her words before asking, "Stephanie?" She turned to him. "I only want to ask… Is this really all about Cassandra? Or is this about you?"

"It's about Cassie," Stephanie replied, turning her back on Alfred before concluding with, "And making sure she doesn't end up like me."


	36. One Shot: Jael

"I'm beginning to suspect you're too fickle for this line of work," Red Hood chuckled. "You say you used to be a Robin. Then you turn up dressed in whatever the hell that purple outfit was. And now you're playing Batgirl… Seems like a bit of an identity crisis to me."

"It's temporary… Until I have the _real_ Batgirl here to take it back… If she wants it, that is."

"The real Batgirl? Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm pretty sure she's not getting out of that chair any time soon."

"You know what I mean," she retorted.

"Yeah yeah yeah. Whatever you say. We're from different generations. Whatever you say."

"That's actually what I came here to talk about… Look… I know you don't associate anymore. I get that you've gone rogue. You're one of the bad guys. You slashed my damn ACL for daring to try and stop you from stealing dangerous tech and killing people with it… I get all that."

"You're a straightforward thinker. I like that."

"Don't try to be manipulative, Jason."

"If you're going to throw around my name, I think I have the right to know yours."

She looked away from him for a moment, considering what she had to lose before firmly replying, "I'll stick to Hood then."

"Suit yourself."

"Look, all of this is beside the point… You have something I want. You know where The Seraphim his hiding."

"I do indeed."

"I want you to tell me that. Because the one I called the real Batgirl? She's a prisoner in this nightmare right now. She's someone innocent caught in the crossfire."

"Gotham has no innocents," Red Hood replied. "There are some that deserve to die to drill that point in for the rest. If Batman cared for this city the way he claims he does, he would have had his roaring rampage of revenge and painted this town with clown's blood as soon as he found out I was dead. But no, clearly my sacrifice wasn't enough. So let someone else try and convince the old man of what taking responsibility for this hellhole should be."

Stephanie looked away for a moment, contemplating his words before replying, "I was once a casualty of all of this too… 'Drilling' things still makes me a little sick to my stomach."

This intrigued Red Hood. "Really now? Were you dead too then?"

"No. My death was faked. I was carted out of the country and Batman was led to believe I was gone for good. I only came back in the last year."

"An interesting little story. But not much more."

"Please listen to me," Stephanie pleaded. "No one else should have to die because of all this. Not if we can do something about it… Can you possibly wish what happened to you on someone else?"

"I'm an independent party, kid. You even compared me with Joker… I'd be taking that harsher right now, but my damn leg is still on fire… I could kill you for what you did to me the other night, but I guess I'd be all alone in the 'Worst Robins' club all over again." Neither of them spoke for a minute or two as snow continued to cover the rooftop, as if neither knew how to react. "I'll tell you what… You question Batman's orders, you're hotheaded to challenge me, and you're crazy enough to stab me in the back of the leg. I like you. Why don't you just leave his side of the business already? Come with me, and I'll lead you there myself. We'll get your friend out, and we can _all_ strike back at the guy who made us the worst Robins of the flock."

"You and I both know I'm not going to do that," Stephanie said sternly. "I've come very close to doing what you do every day… I've cried myself to sleep trying to forget that I've nearly taken lives before. Hell, I put my life on hold to try and make the best of things for a kid I had because I made some bad decisions as a teenager. We have some of the same personality quirks, Jason, but I'm not the same kind of person as you."

"Then we have nothing more to discuss," Red Hood said, turning his back on her. "And like I said, quit calling me Jason."

"Wait!" Stephanie commanded, Red Hood pausing in his snowy tracks. "You don't really think I called you up here just for that, do you?"

"No," Red Hood sighed, reaching into his jacket and producing one of his pistols. "I suppose I didn't."

Before he could complete his turn to face her, a batarang was flung at his hand, quickly covering it in a heavy green goo and latching it to one of the vents sticking out of the theater's roof, an experimental new weapon Bruce hadn't even give Cassandra clearance to use. "I tried to ask nicely. I tried to appeal to whatever humility you have left… But now I'm going to try it your way. Tell me where my friend is, or I'll beat the answer out of you!"

Red Hood pulled a knife from one of his boots and began cutting through the goo. "See, doing it _my_ way would mean knocking me around a little before you-"

His stop to taunt was a regrettable decision when Stephanie closed the distance between them and began to land the hardest punches of her life into his red mask. Switching his knife to a backhand, Red Hood took a slash at her stomach before she jumped backwards and he finished cutting the goo. Stephanie was already cringing as the pain returned to her leg, but she tried to block it out of her mind and keep on the offensive. Her first job, she decided then, was to take out every gun on Hood's person.

Remembering how ridiculous the matter had become at the Penguin's penthouse, Stephanie tried to make estimations of how many of the weapons he might be carrying. Judging by his size and what was just beyond reasonable, Stephanie guessed there could be as many as six pistols stored within his jacket, and though she could not see any holsters at his belt, it was possible he might have two more latched behind his back.

Stephanie made a jump behind one of the air conditioning units as a spray of bullets made contact, letting off a line of terrible _clangs_ from behind her head. She then opened one of the pouches on her belt and rifled through its contents until she came upon a small capsule. Rolling it in her fingers, she made a jump out from behind the unit when she heard Red Hood briefly stop to reload, covering the roof in smoke.

"Nice try," he taunted, "But my mask is already filtering it out." He clenched his fingers and ignited the flaming gauntlet he was wearing to try and get a better look around. Before he could find her, Stephanie's grapple pierced the smoke and latched onto his armored chest. With a pull he was brought to the ground and took a fall into the snow. As Red Hood pushed himself up, he felt Stephanie stomp on his back and noticed a loosening around his sleeves. Though Red Hood struggled, Stephanie managed to cut through his leather jacket with a batarang, slashing it at the sleeves and tossing the rest of the gun-filled jacket off the roof. She confirmed her thought that he was carrying another two in holsters on his back, but Red Hood was back on his feet a moment later, kicking her in the gut as the smoke dissipated.

"Alright, I'll quit playing around then," Red Hood said, pulling his severed sleeves from his arms and tossing them aside. He took his stance again, not going for his guns, Stephanie noticed, as if he was saving them for later.

The former Robins met on the center of the rooftop, throwing every manner of attacks at one another. Though they had both attempted to achieve mastery over the years, both of them were sticking to what they knew best: street fighting. This matter was not helped by the resounding pain in both of their legs, causing them to fight sloppily sloppily, cringing with every few attacks and focusing more on their own strikes than studying their opposite. Blocks were mostly forgone, the two sticking to accepting hits and returning them thereafter. Punches and kicks dug into their faces and stomachs. Though knives and batarangs waited in the wings, the fight raged on strictly through fists and feet.

And yet, in spite of the injury he had received, Red Hood was overcome with a strange apathy towards the situation. He wanted to return the pain he had suffered, but that attack was the extent of his history with his opponent. He didn't even know her name, and for that reason wasn't fighting with the kind of fire he would be against the likes of Nightwing or Batman.

Stephanie, however, was wholly fueled to the point her leg injury was an afterthought. As every punch clanged against his metallic red mask, as she accepted every return strike to her half-covered face, she kept reminding herself that her mission went beyond her. And beyond anyone else in the Batman family.

In spite of what she kept telling herself, she also knew Cassandra wasn't the only thing motivating her.

When Stephanie delivered a kick to Red Hood strong enough to knock him to the ground, she demanded, "Are you going to talk now? You're making this harder than it needs to be!"

Red Hood was quickly back on his feet and thrust his palm up at her chin, an act that felt like it made her brain rattle. "It's cold outside. So I'm just getting warmed up!"

Stephanie responded to the thrust with a smash from her elbow into his sternum, knocking the wind out of Red Hood and allowing her to strike him again with her knee before she relinquished her grip upon seeing the gleam of one of his knives.

"I said I'd cripple you last time. I should probably make good on that promise."

Stephanie pulled a batarang from her belt and rushed at him, the two weapons clashing in their hands as Red Hood took another swing. The two began to slash and dance across the rooftop, occasionally taking a shallow cut for their effort as open wounds and bare skin met freezing temperatures. Stephanie tried to regain some sense of focus, knowing that brute force had thus far just left the two exchanging blows with no real victor in sight. She began to regret her speech about how different the two were as it sacrificed some leverage… But then reminded herself he still didn't know much of anything about her.

Perhaps that mystery was her greatest advantage.

In the midst of a blade clash, Stephanie pulled another smoke bomb from her belt and tossed it, hoping to get a chance to regroup a little longer. This time, however, Red Hood would have none of it. He rushed right at her, tackling her to the ground in the thick cloud and was only barely visible as he held the knife to her throat. "What, the Bat never taught you not to try the same trick twice?" He asked.

"Well… Why don't you tell me?" Stephanie asked, forcing another batarang from her belt and slapping it onto Red Hood's lower back. He looked at her, confused for a moment before there came another eruption of the sticky green goo she had stolen, effectively ruining Red Hood's remaining guns. The downside was, however, that it trapped him on top of her body, at least for the moment. Stephanie then pulled back her head and sent it careening into his masked face, repeating the process over and over until she managed to cut through the green goo with another batarang. She held her temple as she tried to push back onto her feet but crumbled, sure she might have done as much damage to herself as she had to him, and took half of a fall backwards as her head spun. To her surprise, her hands fell onto something buried in the snow she could not identify. Raising it, she discovered it was a lead pipe, probably removed from the AC unit she had dodged behind earlier.

As Red Hood rushed at her, Stephanie raised the pipe and blocked his knife, whirled the pipe around, and thrust it into his stomach. Again winded, Stephanie let off a powerful swing and struck him in the face, at last shattering the red mask he was wearing and getting a good look at the blood spilling through his lips.

She could have continued like that, but refused to sink so low, tossing the pipe aside and resuming her strikes to his face and chest. Though he was still an impressive combatant, Red Hood was not prepared for the sheer brutality the fight had unleashed upon him, and though he managed to dodge and dip a few of her attacks and return some of his own, it was clear he had lost his advantage. His already sloppy technique only became worse with each new attack he was forced to accept, until he opened the gauntlet again and rushed at Stephanie in pure desperation.

Sidestepping the hand of fire, Stephanie tripped Red Hood and forced him to the ground, the gauntlet melting all of the snow surrounding him and was quickly extinguished when he realized how close it had come to his face. With her opponent finally alone on the ground, Stephanie stepped over to his legs and began to stomp the back of his right knee.

Within moments Red Hood was roaring in agony, her attack seemingly threatening to return his promise of permanent disability if he could not stop her. After a number of stomps with her good leg, Stephanie took several steps away from him and gave him a glare, inviting him to continue fighting.

But when Red Hood tried to push himself to his feet, he instantly crumbled and fell again. He tried a second time, but indeed, the damage to his leg was too overwhelming to ignore and he collapsed. When he attempted this a third time, Stephanie kicked him in the face and knocked him onto his back, the blood of his nose and mouth beginning to mix together. As he laid, struggling to get back up, Stephanie grabbed his knife out of the snow and mimicked his position, raising it to his throat.

"Now, you're going to talk!" She commanded.

Red Hood just chuckled. "You don't have the guts."

Stephanie leaned in closer, bringing the knife in direct contact with his skin. "Yeah? How often did Bruce ever tell you to back down? Did he do it on your first big night out on the town?" Red Hood was about to respond before Stephanie continued, "Were you ready to take someone out for what they'd done to you? And was it your own father?" At this Red Hood had no response, the first shades of fear coming across his face. "They always called you the violent one, but you still lost the position because you got killed. Me? I was _fired_. Why don't you think about that for a second?"

There was a window of a couple of seconds in which Red Hood contemplated this bluff, and judging by the look on his face, he actually might have bought it before the illusion was shatter by a call of, "That's enough!"

Glaring at her defeated opponent, Stephanie pushed herself back onto her feet, still cringing slightly when too much weight was pressed on her bad leg, as Batman descended from the sky onto the rooftop, giving her a glare that could make a criminal pray for death. Stephanie, however, was not so impressed.

"Well there you go," she said, throwing her arms open, ready for an argument. "I caught him. I caught Jason Todd. Get over there and cuff him or whatever you do."

Batman grabbed one of Stephanie's shoulders and whirled her back around to face him. "You don't give me orders," he said sternly.

"And you're done giving them to me!" Stephanie shouted back, throwing his arm off.

"I'll deal with you-"

"And I'll deal with _you_ in a minute, but in the meantime, like I said, cuff him already! I didn't nearly get my throat cut to let him get away again!"

Another minute or so passed as the two glared at one another before Batman stepped over to Red Hood, still groaning and holding his knee, and cuffed his hands between two grates in a vent before returning to face Stephanie. When Red Hood struggled a little and muttered, "Coy bitch…" Batman knocked him against the roof, forcing him into unconsciousness while he confronted Stephanie. "We're not going out alone at night right now. Not after what happened to Cassandra. And you're supposed to be injured, you shouldn't be here at all."

"Well you're most certainly welcome for finally getting one of the biggest rogues you contend with trapped in one place," Stephanie spat. "You know why I just caught him? Because he's brash and arrogant, but still knows you'd kick his ass, especially after I slashed his knee. You'd have never found him, you couldn't appeal to his damaged ego."

"You're hardly one to talk about egos and arrogance. And I expect you have a very good reason you're wearing my daughter's suit?"

"Oh your daughter?" Stephanie asked, angry as ever. "Is that what she was to you? You know, this thing wasn't given a monument or anything. This costume wasn't celebrated when I stole it. It's almost as if you'd swear the person wearing it didn't really matter all that much to you."

"You're wrong," Batman said, struggling to keep calm.

"Yeah? You finally got around to putting her adoption on paper. Whoop-de-freaking-do! What exactly was it you expected she was doing with herself before then? Was that a fatherly gesture, or was that just a bid to clear your conscience?"

"Don't try and insinuate-"

At this point, Stephanie was shoving him in her fury. "Cassandra wasn't celebrated in that cave any more than she was celebrated in your life! You encouraged her to find her own path, but all you ever did was tell her to keep trying. _I_ read her the book, _I_ talked about faith, _I _listened to her talk about her feelings and emotions! You might be her dad on paper, but she had to turn to me for guidance, not you! And frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if you felt just the same way about her that you've always felt about me!" As she continued, bitter, livid tears began to well up in her eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid… I wasn't angry when you didn't do jack for me while I was a scared kid trying to deal with a pregnancy… I can forgive you for firing me after the stuff with Scarab, whether I deserved it or not… I know that when I tried to do your job for you, it all blew up in my face and I caused a gang war… I'm not mad at you for that Bruce… I'm hurt that you tried to pretend I never even existed! That bastard chained up over there has more to show for working for you than I do!"

"I've told you before. I didn't erect a monument because I believed you were still alive-"

"Oh yes! This again! You had a hunch I was still alive!" Stephanie repeated mockingly. "Thank God you had a hunch. Did you ever, I dunno, _share_ that thought with anyone? Did you ever tell Tim you thought I was still alive? How about my mom, did you ever bring it up to her? Or did you think maybe I was happy and content, on the other side of the ocean, separated from my friends and family who were surely sick with grief, so that _you_ could be taught a lesson?" To this, Batman did not respond immediately, allowing Stephanie to guffaw with disgust as she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. "All the technology on the planet… You've got the stuff to keep the rest of the Justice League in check… But you couldn't have once tried to figure out where your dad's old friend disappeared to, the place I would surely be if your precious 'hunch' was right!" She again paused, trying to clear the tears from her eyes but now was at the point that she could not stop them, as more slipped through. When next she spoke, her voice began to crack. "I didn't even change my name, Bruce! It was on my fake passport and everything… I wanted you to come find me!"

"Stephanie…" Batman began, at a true loss for how to respond. "I… I thought…" Then stopped again, unsure of what he could possibly say to her.

"Even my dad… A barely recognizable criminal, someone you consider the scum of the earth… Even he would've cared if he was still alive!" They again lapsed into silence before Stephanie coldly added, "But of course he would… You never let me be part of your precious family anyway. I don't know why I ever wanted it Bruce, because who the hell would ever want you as their father?"

After a minute of nothing but heavy breathing and struggled sobs from Stephanie, Bruce finally spoke. "Stephanie… I'm sorry."

She looked up at him. "As well you should be… You know, I wondered how I'd feel when I came back to Gotham… I've been waiting this whole time for… I don't know, _something_. I fight Scarab thinking it'll make up for how I screwed up… I fight Jason to try and prove that I'm not the worst Robin you ever had… But this? I think this is what I wanted Bruce. I wanted a chance to tear into you."

"I suppose this whole time I took your forgiveness for granted… You're right. About… Nearly everything. I didn't ever treat you the way you deserved to be treated. I fired you over a move I would have ignored for any of the Robins who came before you… And I failed to do all I could to try and find you when I sensed something was wrong. For all of that, you deserve to hear me say that I'm sorry. It was inexcusable." The two said nothing for another few beats before Batman continued, "But I can tell you one thing. I told you, thinking you were dying, that you were a Robin. And I meant it."

"How was I ever supposed to know that?" Stephanie sniffled.

"You couldn't. Because I had your double buried with your uniform."

This made Stephanie freeze. "Wha… What? Why?"

"Because you were a Robin of your own design. Jason was my adopted son, I made him what he became… You made those choices yourself. You found your way on your own. That was your uniform, and it didn't seem fair to try and claim it as my own." Silence came again before, "I know it wasn't fair you didn't get anything at all, and it wasn't right I had a belief I didn't act on… But you were, and still are, a hero unlike any other I have ever known."

At this, Stephanie let her guard down and collapsed into Bruce's chest, trying to get a handle on her sobs as she tried to take in his words. "It's… It's almost beautiful when you say it like that," she wept. Though Bruce was never one to be caught up in emotion, he did nothing to fight her as she wrapped her arms tight around him. "I'm… I'm sorry I said those things… I was just so upset-"

"Don't be sorry," Bruce said. "I deserved a lot of it…"

"I just… I didn't want that for Cassie," Stephanie managed to say through her hiccups and coughs. "Cassie doesn't deserve that… Cassie's been through enough. If she's out there, we have to find her… I couldn't stand the thought you might _–hic-_, might try and forget her… Forget her the way I thought you tried with me."

"I know that now, Stephanie," Bruce said.

"No," Stephanie muttered. "You really don't… I… I know what happened to Cassie… The night she was captured. I think I know how they got her."

"What are you talking about?" Bruce asked.

"The night they caught her… She came to my house. She said she just wanted to wish me a quick recovery but… But she kept on talking. About love and her feelings and… Well… She all but said she's in love with me."

Bruce didn't respond at first, unsure of where to begin. "… Are you sure?"

"She said she loved me the same way that Tim does… Then she said she wanted to talk to the priest about it. I blurted out that that's sinful in the Catholic church and… And…" Stephanie was now sobbing anew. "Bruce I'm so sorry… I really am a screw up. Because I'm the whole reason she ran away that night! She probably couldn't concentrate, probably couldn't-"

"Shhh," Bruce said, patting on her back. "You aren't a screw up. Don't you dare take back all that progress you just deserved to make. You were only trying to protect her. I know that. We can't always be so angry at the mistakes we make when we try our hardest to do good."

"Thank… Thank you," Stephanie managed to get out. "It's all I've ever wanted…"

Still holding her close, Bruce slowly eyed Jason Todd's still unconscious form. "As much as I hate to admit it… No. No I don't. I'm proud to admit it. We might just have what we need to save her now."

…

The Seraphim and his men came rushing into the high-priority cells in the middle of the night after it was reported that Joshua was howling, as if in a trance. When the door into the blackened chambers was opened, they stared in disbelief as Joshua, with Cassandra looking on in equal wonder, raised his one hand towards the ceiling.

"I have found grace!" Joshua declared. "My brother, my sweet brother Daniel, I have beheld the lord God in a dream! He came to me, a great, wondrous, white haired man, and promised me the bounties of his kingdom if I but surrender to his will… God said it is never too late to turn your back on sin. The heavenly host declared that I could still find redemption by disowning my heretical ways!" Though he was blind, Joshua managed to turn and face The Seraphim directly. "My brother, make haste! The time has come at last! I am ready to accept Christ as my savior!"


	37. Chapter 34

After another untimeable period kept in darkness and confusion, The Seraphim and four Cherubim returned to the cells of Cassandra and Joshua. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see The Seraphim's lower ranking servants all gathered in the outside hallway as well, dressed now all in white as opposed to their standard black.

The Seraphim approached their cells and shook the bars on Joshua's. "It's time to wake up, Joshua." He said, his voice gentler than Cassandra had ever heard it, though this somehow only made it more threatening. "Your day has finally come. Out from the darkness, and into the light."

"Thank you, Daniel," Joshua said weakly, pushing to his feet. "The lord has truly sent me a wonderful vision. And surely, the other captives must be made to see this momentous day."

"The Batgirl is the only captive who remains in the darkness now," The Seraphim replied. "And she too will behold your awakening. You two, lead her in."

As The Seraphim personally opened Joshua's cell, The Man and The Ox opened Cassandra's cell. Noting the empty cup, the empty tray and the glazed look in her eyes, The Seraphim remarked, "Seems she's finally eaten. What a pity, it would have been better if she was fully conscience for this."

The two were led out of the darkness, though if they had been observant, they may have noticed small hole in the wall that Cassandra had stuffed her bread from the previous night.

Joshua and Cassandra were led through the hallways to the great chapel that Cassandra had observed some days before, the overabundance of unnatural light still straining her eyes. As she had observed before, a gigantic stained-glass of the blonde Mary held the infant Jesus in the center of the room, a crucifix of wood hung high above it. Now, however, Cassandra could see the entire opposite wall was shaped from stained glass, depicting sights such as Moses parting the seas and a scene she could not identify of a man walking in midair. Beneath the glass of Mary, there sat an altar and to its right, a podium. Most importantly, however, between the two Cassandra could see a small entryway leading to whatever was behind the stained glass. The one escape route she might have.

Leading up to the front of the room were rows of pews, and she was forcibly sat between The Lion and The Ox, hands still chained. She then noticed neither of the two were not carrying any weapons. In fact, no one, she noted, seemed to be armed… But also remembered the two wings that covered The Seraphim's belt, and he might still have one hidden. There was no talk within the chapel as the pews continued to fill, Joshua and The Seraphim in the front row, she two rows behind. Within another few minutes, the preacher who had chained and beaten her took his place at the podium.

"Good morning, my brothers." The began.

"Good morning, father." The room chanted as the doors into the chapel slammed shut.

"We have been gathered here once more, on the lord's day, for a truly wonderful day." Cassandra was already clenching at his words, which seemed no softer now than they had when she had first sat at his opposite in the white room. "Our master, The Seraphim, attempted to spread the word, but I can give you all the assurance now. Our eldest captive, Joshua Lebowitz, has finally seen the light!"

There came a cheer throughout the room as Cassandra studied the figures within. There were perhaps a hundred packed within the small chapel, and she estimated twelve were Cherubim. Thanks to their helmets and the claim of the whistle's constancy within, they and The Seraphim would surely be the hardest to try and escape from.

"Our services will begin as planned after our brother Joshua's conversion, so he may completely partake in our feast of the lord's love, but The Seraphim has requested a final summary of our plans against the heretics." With that, the preacher stepped down from the podium and sat in the pew next to Joshua and The Seraphim, as the later rose to his feet and stood at the podium.

"I don't think it is necessary to say much on this front," he began. "My brothers, we have been planning this moment for years, and after many investments, calculated choices and much prayer, the day is finally upon us. Mere days from now, the heretics of Gotham City will be celebrating the Feast of the Solstice they call Christmas, a vile appropriation of our lord, Jesus Christ, by the work of the ancient Druids, servants of Satan himself." In amongst all of the chaos, Cassandra had completely forgotten just how close Christmas was. "And it is on that day, the day our lord's image has been perverted, distorted and disgraced the most, that we shall at last take our place in history."

Cassandra raised her eyes at this as her heart began to race. The Seraphim was building up to an attack on Christmas Day? What on earth was this?

"The only question remaining is if we are prepared… Is everything set?"

A number of voices, maybe twenty, took the chapel, giving him confirmation. After a few seconds, Cassandra could see Joshua raise his head to this, perhaps as confused as she was. "My brother, if I may inquire… What is it you are referring to?" He asked. "As a new member of the church, have I not a right to know?"

"Yes Joshua, you do," The Seraphim remarked. "Somehow, I knew this would be the time of your awakening… Your name is Joshua, just like the one who destroyed the other city of sinners. Gotham will soon be the new Jericho."

"Three years now we have sought this moment, hiding in the shadows until the time was right to reveal ourselves. Quickly and quietly, we have visited every single one of over five-thousand churches in this city. And within them all, we have planted explosives in their foundations… Save for a single one I have already designated, which I shall destroy personally to announce our presence."

Cassandra's heart sank deeper as she absorbed this terrible information. "They are buried deep beneath the houses of false grace, and custom designed. No trigger, no switches… They react to a specific electronic pulse, and we've planted hundreds of them across this Sodomous city as well. On the evening of December twenty-fourth, as the sinful masses flock to the chambers corrupted by Satan himself, we will destroy every last one of them, slaughtering the unworthy ones within, and destroying the temples of perversion!"

Now her jaw fell slack, unable to take in how massive and destructive this endgame was. "Every one of the so called churches will sink into the earth, every Christian will see their place of worship destroyed… Save for ours. And when we are the only believers whose temple was spared by the wrath of God, the sinners will flock to us seeking redemption! All those who continue to live in opposition will be destroyed, and with the eyes of the converted opened, even the Batman will fall to our wrath!"

His plan was completely insane. Even Cassandra, inexperienced with faith as she was, knew this act of violence would not cause a massive conversion amongst the populace. If anything, The Seraphim would only make himself more hated and increase the efforts to hunt him down.

But she fell into deeper despair when she realized none of that mattered. It didn't matter if anyone actually converted. It didn't matter if they hunted him down and killed him for this. In his mind, this plan was going to work. Meaning he was going to do it no matter what. Even if his endgame failed, countless lives would still be lost.

We have waited until now to reveal ourselves. Arriving years ago would only cause us to fade from public minds. Coming after the destruction would raise questions as to if we were a pre-existing force. Now, everyone in Gotham knows and fears us, and by the time this city's false believers have been destroyed, there will be no doubt amongst them that it was our doing."

To all of this, Joshua only replied with a shaken, "I see…"

"Are your eyes open to this operation, my brother?" The Seraphim asked.

"Yes," Joshua said slowly. "It is a good plan… And I am honored to be an accomplice to it." Cassandra could feel how disgusted he was to say this, though The Seraphim paid it little mind.

"Then it is nearly time for our services to begin… But first, we must complete your conversion… Bring her in!"

The doors on the opposite side of the chapel opened again and two more men dressed in white entered, along with a short-haired teenage girl. She was dressed in a jacket that matched the dark brown of her hair, blue jeans and a dog tag hung from her neck, a gag silencing any protests as she was forced into the room, struggling and fighting desperately against the two men who dragged her in until she was forced onto the altar next to the podium, held down by her arms and legs and fighting with all of her might. Cassandra swallowed, trying to imagine what on earth she had to do with anything, as The Seraphim led Joshua by his one arm to the altar opposite the girl, drawing a knife from behind one of the wings on his belt and placing it in Joshua's hand.

"This is your final test," The Seraphim said. "Before you lays a sinner. A disgraceful waste of human life. One whom the lord has bid that we end." At this, the gagged girl began to kick and scream louder.

"What is it she has done?" Joshua asked slowly.

"That is irrelevant," The Seraphim replied. "At least it is to you. I know her sins, I know what it is she has done. And the time has come that she pay for them."

"Yes, Daniel," Joshua said with a swallow, raising the knife, "I suppose you are right."

Cassandra starred at the sight, unsure of what to do. She had not prepared for this. She knew someone would be brought forth for this sacrifice, but had hardly thought about it since she learned. Joshua already had the knife, but he surely wouldn't go through with it to sell his devotion, would he? They had never gone over this part of the plan. Her heart raced faster and faster as the girl's screams grew louder. Was he really going to do it? Her head fell and, for the first time in days, she began to pray. _Not this… Anything but this!_

"Daniel… I am sorry… I don't know that I can."

Cassandra raised her head, overjoyed and wiping away tears as the crowd within the church began to boo him, The Seraphim himself seemingly preparing for a rebuke before he said, "I only mean… I am hesitant."

"You needn't be!" The Seraphim shouted. "This is what she deserves! She must face her eternal consequence!"

"I know she must, my brother. I am so sorry, it is as if Satan has taken ahold of me… Please, I only ask… Give me just a taste of Mist…"

The room quieted, save for the girl's continued resistance, as The Seraphim contemplated this. "You must carry out your duty free of delusion."

"Please Daniel," Joshua begged. "I am so little now… My spirit is willing, but my flesh is weak. Please… Give me just a little… Let me fulfill God's plan for me…"

The Seraphim kept his place as every eye turned to him, wondering how he would react. He seemed decidedly troubled by this, but one could see his hand very hesitantly reaching for one of the pockets of his pants as he at last drew out the small device, cranking one side of it ever so slightly. "Can you feel it?" He asked.

Joshua's twitching seemed to answer his question as he said, "Yes! Oh though I am blind I see so clearly!" And with that he threw his arm around The Seraphim saying, "Yes! Yes at last I am prepared to fulfill my purpose! At long last… I can again celebrate my religion!"

And with that, Joshua thrust the blade into The Seraphim's back. He let out a roar of pain as he suddenly released the device. Every parishioner within the chapel made a run towards the two, unsure of exactly what was happening as Joshua fumbled around on the floor until he found the device, screaming, "CASSANDRA, RUN!" As he did, and then cranked it as high as it would go.

The chapel instantly dissipated into complete pandemonium as the whistle filled the room. Every one of the men in the pews began to instantly turn and strike one another, screaming in terror and madness as they did, save for The Cherubim, who remained firmly in place as The Seraphim struggled to regain his composure and pull the knife from his back. From Cassandra's perspective, however, the sight was even more nightmarish.

Within moments of hearing the whistle, the skin of the men within seemed to fade, tear or disappear. Every single figure within became monstrous in some way or another, some barring fangs, others horns, and more seeming to mutate and merge into multi-headed monstrosities. Every scream and shout was amplified and distorted, time seemingly moving slowly and a horrid echo filling the chamber.

Cassandra had to force herself to move as the walls seemed to peel off, revealing what could have been internal organs and veins, as if the chapel itself was the stomach of a horrible demon. Though everyone within had become violent with the screech of the whistle, few paid any mind to her as she ran forward, due to her drab colored dressings drawing much less comparison to the white room she, and now she knew all of them, had been trapped within.

For this same reason, the girl who had been held at the altar was also much less hideous and malicious in appearance as she, in a daze, pushed up from her position. Cassandra ran as fast as her legs could take her towards the girl, grabbing one of her arms and leading her towards the exit. She only fought for the first few second before Cassandra, with some struggle, managed to say, "Do not be afraid. I will lead us out."

Somehow, this seemed to calm her as they ran past the Seraphim, who screamed at the Cherubim to persue the two of them as he pulled a gun from one of his wings and began to fire, though the pain in his back clearly disrupted his aim as he failed to land a single shot.

The spiraling stairs behind the stained glass rose only into darkness, but Cassandra knew it was their only chance. Clutching the girl's arm as she struggled to pull the gag from her mouth, the two ran into the rising abyss. Four things alone Cassandra could now hear as they continued to run: the sound of the whistle, the charge of The Cherubim, another scream from The Seraphim, and the laughter of Joshua.

"You cheated me! Because of you, you have permitted those sinners to escape!"

"I told you I'd celebrate my religion!" Joshua mocked. "I lived up to our father's words… I got to be a good man one last time… But you know what Dan? I do hope that maybe, just maybe, there is an afterlife after all… Mom and Dad really deserve heaven after all the crap they went through… And you deserve to burn in hell!"

There was a tiny pause before another gunshot overtook the chapel, Cassandra silently sobbing to herself as she continued to lead her fellow captive into the darkness, silently saying, _Thank you_.

"Oh my God, what the hell is all this?!" Her companion cried as soon as she could speak. "What was all that, and who are you? I… I can't see anything!"

"We will be safe," Cassandra said, continuing to lead her, "It will be alright."

"That room… That room was filled with monsters! I- I've never seen anything like that! What were they?"

It was then Cassandra realized, "Did you take the Mist?"

"The what?"

"It is in the air. It burns horribly."

"Yes. Why, did you?"

"I have for some time," Cassandra confirmed, running faster as the sound of The Cherubim grew louder. "Quiet now, please."

As they reached the top of the spiraling staircase, Cassandra felt around on the ceiling until she found a panel with some give, pushing it upward and discovering a trapdoor. She rose from it, led her companion out and slammed it shut as The Cherubim nearly closed in on her. For a moment, she was allowed to think herself safe.

Then there came a thunderous, horrible roar. Cassandra looked up to see something else now, some gigantic, horrible devil with a single glowing, golden eye rushing right towards the two of them. She grabbed ahold of the girl again and jumped out of its way as it continued to run through what she now realized was a dark, wet cave. Noting the gargantuan and long beast only moved forward, she was sure The Cherubim would not be able to exit the trapdoor until it had passed.

After another moment catching her breath, Cassandra was overjoyed to see something in the direction on the beast: it was headed towards sunlight. Again she ran and led the girl towards the mouth of the cave, the girl begging her to slow down but she paid her little mind, perusing the sunlight she had been starved of for so long. For the first time in she could no longer tell how long, Cassandra took a breath of fresh air, and was even grateful to the sting of sunlight.

The moment passed quickly as The Cherubim continued to pursue them, Cassandra looking for some means of escape when she realized that the cave exited onto a bridge on some kind, also noticing some kind small passageway to her left. As the effect of the whistle began to fade, Cassandra darted down the small passageway, accepting a few twists and curves as they came but finding an exit directly leading into a river. On either side of them sat jagged rocks, impossible to climb, but a smooth shore on the other side, only maybe fifty feet away.

"We can't jump in there," the girl insisted. "It's snowing out here for God's sake, it'll kill us!"

"And they will kill us if we don't," Cassandra replied, not releasing her arm. "We must run. Wherever we can. Please. Trust me."

Cassandra did not wait for a reaction as she jumped into the frigid water, kicking as hard as she could as her body began to fade into shock. It was only fifty feet… She had to make it. Too much had already been sacrificed for her not to.

And by some miracle, the managed to kick to shore, leaving The Cherubim behind on an order not to enter the freezing depths.

Both girls gasped desperately for air as they made their way back onto the shore, shivering horribly for a moment before Cassandra collapsed, too overwhelmed to take another step, darkness threatening to take hold of her again.

"I guess it's my turn to save you," the other one said through chattering teeth, as she knelt and lifted Cassandra's chained arms over her shoulder to help support her. "Holy crap, what even was all that? How did you even do that?"

"I had… Good teacher," Cassandra said slowly.

"Look, when we get to town, I'm going to call an ambulance, okay? We're both gonna need it… Do you have any family I can call for you? Hell, I don't even know your name… Mine's Sadie, by the way."

"Cassandra," she said weakly. "Cassandra… Wayne…"

"Wayne? Like, not as in Bruce Wayne, right?"

"He is… My father…"

"Your father?" Sadie asked in disbelief. "I didn't even know he had a daughter! I'm gonna call the hospital, and then they're gonna call him, okay? Everything is going to be okay."

"Thank you," Cassandra said weakly. And with the thought of their liberation in her mind, she allowed herself to drift again into the black.


	38. Chapter 35

[[Author's Note: As a reminder, I tweaked and added a few things to the end of Jael, so the conversation between Steph and Bruce may be worth a re-read]].

Days later, she had not overcome that darkness.

"I don't even know what to make of it. There are just the tiniest traces of… I don't even know what, _something_. Some intense hallucinogens were in her blood, but even that doesn't explain her reaction, or the fact that her mind is still fighting them as hard as it can… She might be going through withdrawal, but it's hard to tell while she's knocked out like this… Couple that with the hypothermia she must have gotten swimming across the river and her body is on the edge of breaking. The longer she stays unconscious, the more her mind is going to keep fighting a condition that just isn't there anymore."

"Is she aware of her surroundings at all?"

"Very faintly. She shows the smallest reactions to some things, but the longer she stays in this coma, the harder it's going to be to wake her up again."

"You know I can give you as much as you need. Any resource, you name it, I'll have it."

"Bruce… I'm sorry… You know I'll do anything to bring her back. But right now, it might be as mental as it is physical. You're doing your part by being here right now."

"… Very well."

"And Bruce… I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"Right now, I'm beginning to wonder if you were right."

"They made their choices themselves. They chose to put themselves in the line of danger to follow your example. I can't blame all of that on you."

"Help me save my daughter, Leslie. And I'll forgive you for everything."

Bruce stepped back into Cassandra's room at the Thompkin's clinic, where he had requested she be moved immediately after learning her whereabouts. The last two days had been spent trying to figure out what in the world had transpired in the nearly two weeks Cassandra was held captive. Unfortunately, trapped in unconsciousness as she was, they were only able to question Sadie, whose answers were vague as a result of the Mist.

"I can't even remember what happened… I was in a bathroom at the subway, I'd just seen a movie with some of my friends. I was washing my hands and next thing I know there was a wet washcloth being forced over my mouth and I blacked out. I woke up… I guess it would have been just a few hours later and they were forcing me to inhale this horrible substance. The room goes hazy, everyone starts to look like monsters… I experimented with some stuff a few years ago. I promise I'm clean now, but I've never seen anything like that."

"Is that all the reason a group of religious fanatics would look at you as a target?" Bruce asked.

"I don't have to answer that, Mr. Wayne," Sadie said, going a little red. "I'll tell the police or Batman if they ask, but you don't need to know." Bruce frowned bitterly at the irony.

"How old are you even?" He asked.

"Seventeen. Eighteen in the spring."

"Do your parents even know you're here? Aren't they worried about you?"

"My dad lives in Star City. We don't talk… My mom lives in town. We don't talk either. I gave her a call, she was really hungover and didn't even care. I kinda look after myself."

Bruce was only further frustrated by this but did not feel like he could, in good conscience, ask her to leave. Whenever he needed to discuss business with Tim, Dick, Barbara or Stephanie, who would come in and out of Cassandra's room, offering her words of encouragement and flowers to decorate the room, they did so in the hallway or in small, secondary room Leslie offered them. Between his conversation with Leslie and his return, he stepped in and called Alfred, who answered quickly.

"How is he?" Bruce asked. "Not giving you any trouble?"

"Sir, you designed the room to be completely inescapable to _yourself_. Jason hasn't offered me any difficulty. I am actually taking him his lunch now, if you would like to speak to him."

"No. Just keep reminding him of our terms. As soon as he tells us where The Seraphim is hiding, we'll release him. No guns, no weapons, no money, but we will release him."

"Very good sir. I will remind him."

And yet, knowing only what they all did, The Seraphim was quickly becoming an afterthought. With Barbara's confirmation that the Birds of Prey were united in town, she encouraged Bruce to stay out of his uniform until Cassandra's matters could be resolved. Advice she was surprised to see, he took.

The Batman family and Sadie would take intermittent turns by Cassandra's bedside, offering her words of encouragement in the hopes of pulling her out from the darkness.

"Cassie, I know we've had some scraps in the past… I didn't always trust you the way you deserved. But I'm here now because you should know we're all counting on you to wake up again. I don't think I've ever seen Bruce more worried in his life than when he thought he might lose you. I know you're a fighter, maybe the best on earth… And we'll all be here to congratulate you when you wake up. We all hope that will be very soon."

"God, I wish I had Dick's optimism on all of this… I don't know what that madman did to you, but I want you to be sure that we're going to find him. The Birds are out there and they're going to tear this city apart looking for those bastards. You remember when we showed Dinah the ropes? Remember sparring with her and teaching you just how much butt you can kick? … God, Cassie, your attitude is infectious. I don't even pray anymore, but I felt like I had to when I first saw you like this. Everyone's pulling for you Cassie… Please wake up soon."

"I finally went back to church on Sunday. The same day we got the call that that girl had brought you in here. I'm not going to sit here and brag, but I don't know if I can pretend one thing had nothing to do with the other… If you wake up, I'll start coming to mass with you every Sunday, like I should have been doing in the first place. I'm sorry for all the times I made this journey any harder than it needed to be for you… No matter what I said, I was wrong, Cass. God is wonderful. God has to be wonderful because he brought you back when we thought we'd lost you. I'm here Cassie, and I'm praying for you."

"… I never told Tim what you told me. I think it's better that he doesn't know. That's not because I'm mad or upset or anything like that. Because I think I _get_ what you were saying Cassie. And I could never, never hold that against you. Nobody wanted to get you home more desperately that me. I fought against a torn ACL and I beat Jason Todd into submission trying to get him to tell me where they could have taken you. Because I would you anything for you, Cassie… Maybe… Maybe I was wrong… Maybe I really do love you, the same way I love Tim…"

"…"

"… I'm sorry. I thought if you heard that, it might wake you up. That was dumb of me. You even said you didn't want that… Well Cassie, regardless of any of that, every one of us is here for you. Because every one of us loves you. And no matter what stupid thing I said or what rules people in the clergy are supposed to teach, God loves you too. How could _anyone_, God included, not love you? That's why we're all here. And… And I guess that's what I have to tell you. And that everyone will be here when you finally come home. For real… You really are my best friend. And you always will be."

"Bruce? Can I talk to you about something?" Tim asked.

"Go ahead," Bruce replied, holding his forehead in the hallway just beside Cassandra's room.

"We've been trying for two days to wake her back up, and from what I heard from Dr. Thompkins, the longer she's out, the more dangerous her condition becomes." Tim began.

"Do you have a suggestion?" Bruce asked.

"I think I do… I want to call Monsignor Ryan and ask that she be baptized."

"Is that possible?" Bruce asked. "And how would that help?"

"I looked into it. Very, _very_ sick people can be baptized with almost no notice, if they were on the verge of converting but couldn't. People like Cassie. That, and her faith had all but become the center of her life. If anything's gonna wake her up, it might just be this."

"Tim… Are you sure waking her up is all you're concerned about here?"

Tim didn't respond at first, looking away as if unsure how to word his thoughts. "Well, mostly… Don't you think she'd want this? If… If this _is_ our worst case scenario?"

Bruce was silent on the matter, considering what Stephanie had already told him after her battle with Jason and the fact that Cassandra had only just escape the clutches of a mad zealot. He had to wonder if religion would still be an interest of hers when she had awoken, or if the downward spiral she had faced may have destroyed her faith entirely. Bruce silently contemplated these two matters, unsure for only a moment before thinking, _Even if she wakes in disgust, she'll still be awake_. "Yes Tim. I think that would be a good idea. Let's see if Cassandra's faith can wake her up again."


	39. Chapter 36

When the gravity of the situation had been explained, Monsignor Ryan had given Tim the assurance he would arrive at the Thompkins clinic within the next day. Though he had much work to in preparing Saint Michael's for the Christmas mass, he assured him he would arrive, and that doing such was his duty. In the midst of the wait, Leslie entered the room saying a, "Mrs. Leech" had called for Sadie.

The girl sighed, stepped out into the hallway and accepted the phone. Shouting could be heard from the half-cracked door as she bitterly argued for nearly ten minutes before she stepped back in and said, "My mom's taking me home. One way or another… I'm sorry you had to hear that, Mr. Wayne."

"It's alright," Bruce said. "It may be for the best. You need your rest as well."

"Listen, just… If she wakes up," Sadie said, tearing off a strip of bath tissue and scribbling on it. "I'd like to hear from her again. I mean, she did save my life…"

"I'll make sure she gets it," Bruce said, accepting the paper and setting it on Cassandra's bedside tables.

"I hope Batman gets those freaks soon… They've hurt too many people."

"I hope he does too," Bruce said, squeezing Cassandra's hand. "And I hope nobody else has to go through what you two did… Ever again."

Tim's enthusiasm had brought the entirety of the family together, save for Alfred, as they awaited Monsignor Ryan in Cassandra's tiny room as she continued to lay dormant. Bruce and Barbara exchanged words quietly, Dick clasped his hands and shut his eyes in prayer, Tim almost silently recited his mother's rosary, clasping her Star of David with the same hand as Stephanie examined them all. When Tim looked up at the end of a decade to say, "I'm getting a drink." Stephanie said, "I'll go with you."

The two stepped out into the hallway, Stephanie reaching around and clutching his free hand with one of her own. "Can I ask you something, Tim?" She began.

"Go ahead."

"If we were ever to get married, am I going to have to convert like your mom did?" She asked. Stephanie had ulterior motives to this question, but she felt it a decent place to start.

Tim was a little thrown by the question at first, but quickly replied, "I mean, I don't think so. My parents aren't around to ask for it, my grandparents wouldn't be bothered by you even if they were alive… No. I mean, only if you wanted to."

"Do you believe everything you were taught about it? Being a Catholic I mean?"

"All of it? No. There's a lot of it I really think is pretty dated, focuses on the wrong stuff, all of that." Tim replied.

"What about the stuff with the wafers? Do you believe that?" She asked.

Tim sighed as they came to the soda machine. "It sounds crazy, doesn't it? Believing you're literally eating your God… I don't know if I can explain it, but whenever I used to go to church every Sunday and even thinking back on when I was at Adoration with Cass… There's something about it. It's completely otherworldly. So I'm going to have to go with yes, I do believe in transubstantiation in Communion."

The two started to make their way back when Stephanie asked, "What about baptism? What does the church teach about that? What are we waiting on your priest friend to do?"

"It's a sign of birth and life. Baptism is supposed to be the first awakening of spirituality… So why they do it when we're all babies, I really have no idea. It's supposed to be awakening as someone new, more in touch with God. And it washes away original sin."

"Do you really believe this ceremony can do all that?" Stephanie asked. "I mean, you know my background. Methodists like symbols. You guys feel like you border on magic sometimes."

"I'll bet we do," Tim chuckled. "Honestly Steph, I don't know if I believe baptism can cause some kind of awakening or not… But I guess when Monsignor Ryan gets here, we'll find out, won't we?"

"I guess… You know, I never really taught Cassie about hell or the devil… Was that a mistake?"

"I really don't think so," Tim said. "If this whole mess with The Seraphim has taught us anything, there can be way too much hell in your Christianity if you let there be. But I think this whole thing worked out for Cass because it was already so in-line with how she felt about the world. She already had ideas about mercy, and doing good for others. Cassie was a great Christian before she even knew what a Christian was."

At this point the two had made it back to Cassandra's room, but Stephanie requested, "One more question?"

"Go ahead."

"If you think some of your teachings are dated… Why are you still part of the system?"

"Because, especially since I started praying again, I think things will continue to change. Priorities, ideals, tradition, it can't be the same forever. My church is very different from how it was a hundred years ago, let alone two-thousand, and we're still not getting everything right… Right now, I'm holding onto my parent's beliefs and remembering what's most important: to love God, and to love others. I don't think God's will changes, Steph. I just think we're learning more about it all the time."

With that Stephanie put her arms around him and the two hugged just outside Cassandra's room. Stephanie wiped at her eyes a little, but felt comforted by Tim's words.

…

It wasn't until after ten that night Monsignor Ryan was finally escorted to the room by Dr. Thompkins. "I usually don't like the rooms getting so crammed, but I'm making an exception here… Anything to wake this kid up."

"Thank you doctor," the old monsignor said as he entered the crowded room, eyeing the tired bodies within before resting on Tim. "I'm sorry I'm so late Tim. Christmas time keeps me very busy."

"It's alright, Father Ryan," Tim replied. "We're just glad to have you here… I'm sorry I didn't get in contact sooner."

"Are you going to introduce me then?" Monsignor Ryan asked.

"This is my adopted father, Bruce," Tim began. "My brother Dick. She is Barbara, she's close to the family, and this is my girlfriend, Stephanie… And I already told you about Cassandra on the phone."

"And she told me a little about you," the Monsignor said gravely. "And Stephanie… Are you the same one who sustained an injury a few weeks ago?"

"I… I did," she replied, somewhat confused. "Did someone mention me?"

"Yes. Cassandra and I spoke briefly, she asked me to pray for her. I hope you are feeling better."

"I am, actually," Stephanie said, smiling a little.

"Well, Tim, I know about you, what about the rest of you? Are any of the rest of you practicing Catholics?"

The room took on an awkward quiet before Bruce remarked, "Only Tim, for the moment… I was raised Episcopalian, don't practice much anymore."

"And you're asking me to do this?" The Monsignor asked, surprised.

"This is my daughter's set of belief. I'm being supportive," Bruce replied.

"That's… Actually a very bold answer," he said.

"I consider myself a Christian, if that's worth anything," Dick said. "I only really know the basics, but it's still something."

"I see… Barbara? Stephanie?"

Barbara didn't reply, turning away a little, Stephanie answering, "Methodist. Don't go to church as much as I should… I'm sorry we're not a more impressive group, sir."

"Well, the lord has given her a truly incredible support system in all of you, from the looks of it," Monsignor Ryan said. "Is she… Is she unconscious? I'm actually not permitted to baptize someone who isn't awake."

Again a quiet took the room before Bruce said, "She is aware of her surroundings. Just barely… Did Tim tell you that if she does not regain consciousness soon, she is at risk of falling into a permanent coma?"

"He did," Monsignor Ryan said. "That's something of a gray area, as far as religious decree is concerned… But if she is in immediate danger, she has consented and she has some sense of awareness, it is my duty to administer the sacrament."

Again Bruce and Tim exchanged looks, Bruce knowing that if she were awake, there remained a possibility she _wouldn't_ consent… But at this point, was a father desperately trying to get his daughter back. "I can assure you those are the circumstances," Bruce said.

"The only remaining matter is she will need a proxy if she cannot speak for herself."

"Well, like we said father, I'm the only other Catholic in the room," Tim said. "I'll do it. I don't know everything Cassie went through to find God, but I was there for enough of it."

The whole prospect made Stephanie shift uncomfortably in her seat, chewing on her lower lip and wondering if she should say something, but kept quiet as Tim and Monsignor Ryan proceeded.

"My catechumen, do you reject Satan?"

"I do." Tim said in Cassandra's place, every other head in the room falling in silent respect.

"And all his works?"

"I do."

"And all of his empty promises?"

"I do."

"Do you believe in God, the father almighty, creator of heaven and earth?"

"I do."

"Do you believe in Jesus Christ, his only son, our Lord? Was crucified, died and buried, and rose from the dead, and is seated at the right hand of the father?"

"I do."

"Do you believe in the holy spirit, the holy Catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting?"

"I do."

With that, Monsignor Ryan produced a small vial from one of his pockets, pouring a little of the water and oil mixture into a cupped hand and gently emptied it onto Cassandra's forehead. "Cassandra I baptize you in the name of the father," he repeated the pour, "and of the son," and a third time, "and the holy spirit. Amen."

Every head remained facing downward in silent contemplation of this moment as the Monsignor dried the small spot on Cassandra's forehead and made a sign of the cross of his own. Everyone waited with baited breath for Cassandra to show a sign of life and confirm what Tim had said. They sat, awaiting a miracle.

Still, one did not come.

After several minutes in this state, Tim raised his head to be sure he wasn't missing something. No, Cassandra's state hadn't changed at all. His jaw nearly fell, tears building in his eyes as he looked at his adopted sister in disbelief and let out an almost inaudible, "No…"

He was so sure this would work.

And so sure that if it didn't, nothing would.

"I'm sorry for all of this," The Monsignor said, standing up and moving towards Tim, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She's in my prayers. All of you are in my prayers. The rest, is in God's hands."

Tim managed to hold back his reaction and simply nod until Monsignor Ryan left the room as his head fell and he cried. "Damn it…" He muttered. "Damn it! I was sure that would work!"

"You can't be so hard on yourself," Stephanie said, walking over to him. "We had to try. Now we'll try something else-"

"No!" Tim sobbed. "I… I don't get it! She was so good… Her heart was so big… And God became the most important thing in the world to her. Why didn't she wake up?!"

As the family moved in closer to try and calm Tim down, knowing that his frustration could only make things worse, something was transpiring. Something none of them could see. As the tiniest droplets of holy water continued to slide down Cassandra's forehead, a torrential storm was overtaking her mind.

…

All in a moment, Cassandra as if she'd been thrust into the ocean. In the first moments, Cassandra was pushing and swimming as fast as she could, clawing at the water and trying to reach the surface for a breath of air. Kicking desperately, she pushed and broke through the water, gasping for breath in the salty water and searching for some sign of life, a signal that she was not alone in this strange place. And, indeed, she saw him a few feet away, standing atop the surface, his hands tucked into his pockets.

Cassandra swam over to him as he put out a hand, again dressed in his long coat, its tail blowing in the wind. Cassandra took his hand and urgently pushed upward, but as soon as her foot hit the top of the water she again sank into the water. Her hand still tightly wrapped around his, she pushed upwards again but once again, she fell into the ocean, her hand slipping this time as she sunk beneath the surf. Once more she was kicking as hard as she could, but as she did she could see some strange movement in the water above, as it seemed to slowly drain from a small circle in the center of the water. Concluding it would be easier, she stuck her head in the center of the hole and took a deep breath of air, her body slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean and the hole forming in its center. Throwing her head upward, she could see Jesus stepping down towards her, the outside of water circle forming a staircase.

Cassandra reached the bottom of the ocean, gasping for breath and rubbing the salt from her eyes as Jesus continued his descent. Heaving desperately in the middle, she didn't acknowledge Christ when he stepped towards her for the first few seconds. After catching a few breaths, she threw herself at him, tears forming in her eyes and her hand pounding into his chest.

"_Why?!_" She demanded amongst her cries and refusing to look him in the eye. When her answer wasn't immediate, she continued, "Answer me! Why?!"

She pulled away from him, wheezing painfully and struggling to breath. When he laid a hand on her back, she shoved it away, continuing to yell and cry. "I was always good! Before I found you I still tried to be like you! But you… You were supposed to love me!" She screamed, looking up at him. "Supposed to protect me! And you let that… That _demon_ have me! You betrayed me!"

When she finally permitted herself to take a look at him, she could not have prepared herself for the sadness in his eyes. To see the soft, radiant face of Christ turned to such melancholy was more jarring than she had expected. The gentleness remained, though he now looked hurt.

Still, this could only halt her yelling so much. "I want an answer! If you love me, why did it happen? Why do I sin by loving Stephanie? Why am I here?"

Though he still did not answer her directly, Jesus referred to the ocean that surrounded them, motioning that she step forward. As she did, two figures began to come into focus, and she soon realized they were Tim and Stephanie, talking, or perhaps arguing, in some kind of white room.

"You can't just give up on this again because she didn't wake up," Stephanie said.

"Why?" Tim demanded, throwing out his arms. "It didn't work. I was sure it was going to work and it didn't, I have a right to be pissed off!"

"God didn't make The Seraphim do whatever he did, and it isn't God's fault Cassie isn't awake."

"She learned about faith one night and thrust herself in a month later. She was so damn dedicated she started dressing in white and put a cross through her batsymbol. She didn't deserve this Steph… And it's the least God can do to make it right again!"

Cassandra glared at the saddened Jesus as Tim gave this argument, but Stephanie then gave one of her own. "That's not how religion is supposed to work Tim… You know it isn't. You're just upset, I understand that-"

"Cassie barely escaped with her life, she may never wake up again, and The Seraphim is still out there. It isn't right and it isn't fair. Maybe that's not how religion is supposed to work, but this isn't how God is supposed to work either!"

"Did your parents ever promise you you would never get hurt? Never?" Stephanie asked, Cassandra cringing a little at the question.

"What are you talking about?" Tim asked.

"Did they ever tell you they wouldn't let anyone hurt you? If they did, they were lying… My mom once promised me, during the umpteenth time my dad was arrested, that he was never going to hurt me again. That was years before I started wearing my costume, and we both know that it isn't true."

Cassandra considered this point quietly, wondering if she had initially believed that was what God was supposed to do. She wasn't upset when she had been in battle with The Cherubim and had been attacked… But that case and what she had suffered through were wildly different, she concluded.

"But God is supposed to be better than our parents," Tim retorted. "God is supposed to take care of us… Cassie made me want to believe that again. And look where its gotten me."

Stephanie was quiet for a minute or so, as if permitting Tim to release his frustrations before he collapsed into a chair, holding his forehead. "You know what I was always taught about God? That God works through us. That God works miracles, not from above and a distance, but through the choices and decisions we make… And that applies to everyone, even people who don't believe." To this, Tim said nothing at first. "Maybe it was God's fault Cassie got kidnapped, maybe it's God's fault she won't wake up… Or maybe it's because of God that she escaped at all. And maybe it's God's doing that I started reading the Bible with Cassie in the first place. Were you ever taught that life was supposed to be perfect?"

Was that the secret to everything? To just alter her perception of things and trust that God was somehow responsible for the good in her life, but not the bad?

Tim let out a sniffle and grabbed a tissue out of the box next to him. "Of course not."

"Neither was I," Stephanie said. "I don't know if I think that's God fault, if should be a different moral standing or what… But for even the worst of lives, there is grace. Because we share it with one another. Even Cassie, whose childhood was a complete, living nightmare, even she found peace. And hope. And love, when she joined you… God doesn't make life perfect, Tim. But for some of us, he makes it better. You should know that."

"Some of us?" Tim asked curtly. "Nobody ever said, 'some of us' back in Sunday school."

"I'm not going to say everyone… Bruce seems to have… _Most_ things figured out how he has it now. Same with Babs… If we've learned anything from this nightmare, it's that The Seraphim would have been better off if religion had never entered his life at all… But if you really want to give up your faith again, do it for the right reasons." Stephanie was now beginning to sound stern. "Don't be mad at God for not holding up his end of an agreement you two never made. The deal is God loves you, he made you _because_ he loves you… And if you don't feel that anymore… Then I guess it's your life, and you choose who is a part of it."

With this, the images of Stephanie and Tim reflected in the water faded, again leaving Cassandra and Jesus alone. She looked at him, a look of sorrow still in his eyes as he gave her a half-hearted smile and, at last, to her surprise, spoke.

"The rest is up to you."

His voice seemed to work the same way as his eyes had, offering his words in perfect clarity and so that his emotions were unquestionable.

"What… Do you mean?" Cassandra asked.

"I can leave. I do not want to, but I can leave you alone. If that is what you really want."

"I… I just wanted to know why," Cassandra said, clutching her forehead. "Maybe I misunderstood what you are supposed to be…"

"Cruelty exists. Humanity has grown selfish and petty. Many people carry evil within… But all carry goodness. I made them. All of them. They can do evil… But nearly all do good." He stepped closer to Cassandra, laying a hand on one of her shoulders. "I died for them. Bruce, Lebowitz, and you. Even when you fail, you can still do good… And I still love you. You are my family. No matter what."

If joining with Bruce and the rest had taught Cassandra anything, it was that a true family never abandons its own. That neither anger, heartache nor failure could pull them from one another.

With another stream of tears she collapsed into him, wrapping her arms around his body and crying. "Forgive me," she begged.

"You don't need forgiveness," Jesus replied, laying a kiss on her forehead. "You have done so well. And I love you, so much."

"I love you too," Cassandra managed with a short choke, relinquishing her grip ever so slightly and looking him in his mystical eyes, which had returned to their former beauty. "What… What now?"

"Well… Although Stephanie was right, I prefer working through others… I think you've earned this…"

And as he said it, a dazzling light began to overtake the dry spot of ocean the two stood upon, Cassandra shielding her eyes at first until she realized that the sea and The Son were both fading. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she cried, "I am still sorry! We will talk again soon, thank you so much!"

…

Just as Tim and Stephanie's argument came to its end, Cassandra's eyes squinted as she raised her hand, trying to keep the bright light out of them. It took a few seconds for either of the two to notice, but as soon as Stephanie did, she cried, "Oh my God, Tim, look!"

Without warning she rushed over as best she could with her knee injury and hugged Cassandra close, a maneuver she wasn't ready for just yet as her entire body ached but gladly accepted. "I'm not trying to be offensive, I mean it… Oh. My. God. Tim! Tim go get the others!"

Tim nodded, rushing out to the hallway to retrieve the rest of the family as the girls hugged one another close. "I was so worried," Stephanie said, fighting tears. "I used to think nobody could lay a finger on you Cass… You really scared me there."

"It's okay now," Cassandra said, smiling. "I'm home."

"Well… Technically you're in Leslie Thompkins' clinic-"

"I am with my family," Cassandra replied. "I am home."

And in a similar fashion to Stephanie the others came rushing in, each exchanging their own words of exasperation and taking her in their arms, holding her close. Even Bruce was the one to initiate his embrace, saying, "If you've made peace with God, I hope you've thanked him."

"I have," Cassandra said. "He is family to me… I love him no matter what."

"Well, hopefully you don't end up worrying him like you have the rest of us," Barbara said with a little chuckle. "We went so far as to try and baptize you to wake you up. Who knows, maybe it worked and it just had a delayed effect."

"Tim's idea, by the way," Dick mentioned.

"I didn't mean to take that away from you," Tim said. "I just wanted to help you wake up…"

"I know," Cassandra said. "And I think you did." And she smiled at him, which seemed to excuse him of his guilt. For a few blissful minutes, all was forgotten as the family was reunited with a sister and daughter they feared losing forever.

However, Cassandra then remembered she had something to tell them. "Can we talk about… Work?" She asked.

"If you need to." Bruce said. "Why? Did you learn something?"

"Do we really want to do this now?" Barbara asked. "She only just woke up, she probably doesn't want to-"

"They are planning an attack. Christmas Eve. Of every church in Gotham."

The room fell deathly silent at this new development, every eye lingering on Cassandra and jaws falling slack. "… Every… Church?" Tim asked in disbelief. "Like… That can't be right. There are-"

"Five-thousand." Cassandra said.

"Holy crap," Stephanie muttered, wide eyed. "How… How are they…?"

"Bombs. Planted under every one. Three years they have planned."

With these words, Bruce again leaned over the bed, hugging Cassandra and kissing her on the forehead before saying, "Everyone stay here. She still needs all of you. I'll be back soon."

"Where are you going?" Dick asked.

"To talk to the one person who knows how to stop all this," Bruce said, departing for his manor.

In spite of the chilling news, talk quickly returned to the fact that now felt like a miracle of all of them. Cassandra was alive, and judging by the reclaimed hope she had risen with, perhaps more so than ever.


	40. One Shot: Malachi

One Shot: Malachi

"I'm going to need your help getting it open, as you know," Bruce said to Alfred as the two ascended one of the massive stairwells within his manor. The night was dark outside, and a part of Bruce feared for how many he was leaving without protection without being out in his uniform, but tried to put the thought out of his mind. There was somewhere else he had to be. A single, locked room on the fifth floor.

"Yes, of course sir," Alfred replied. "I am well aware of our arrangement. I also know that if he had the means to escape, he would have by now. As it is, he simply seated and remaining silent."

The peephole of the room actually served as a retinal scanner, and there was an audible unlocking sound as Alfred looked into it, allowing him into the next room, covered from floor to ceiling in heavy steal and forming a long, narrow passageway to another room at the end of the hall. Alfred and Bruce proceeded toward this as well, allowing Alfred to press on the switch that served as both a heartrate-sensor and a handprint identifier. The steel door before them slid aside, revealing a bulletproof glass window looking in on a small bedroom, Jason Todd seated in the chair within, boredly flipping through a book on law and justice.

He looked up, not expecting much, but had to double take at the sight of Bruce at Alfred's side. "And here I thought I had an ungracious host," Jason sneered.

"We don't have time for you to waste," Bruce said firmly, stepping up to the tiny holes in the glass. "We need to know where The Seraphim is."

"Sorry, but I think the cabin fever of sitting here too long is starting to get to me," Jason said, looking back down at the book he was reading. "This is unlawful detainment, if you didn't know."

"I told you we could work something out. I'm willing to let you out of here, all you need to do is answer the damn question," Bruce asserted. "You clearly don't appreciate what I'm sacrificing by letting you walk free again."

"Yeah, well until you let me go, your Batgirl isn't showing up again. Let me at those sons of bitches and I'll break her out myself."

Bruce went quiet for a moment, considering the information he had withheld from Jason before he said, "Cassandra's alive. We rescued her and, after some struggle, she's awake and healthy again."

"Then you've lost the only thing that showed me this mattered," Jason replied. "We have nothing more to discuss. Let me out of this damn cage."

"It's not that simple anymore," Bruce said. "Cassandra knew things you didn't. She knew more than any of us… The Seraphim is planning an attack on every single church in this city, and if he succeeds the death toll will be absolutely catastrophic."

Jason froze for a moment and slowly looked up at Bruce again. "You're… You're kidding, right? You've got to be bluffing… That's seven… Maybe eight-hundred-"

"Try five-thousand," Bruce said gravely. As hard as he tried not to show it, Jason was visibly disturbed by this fact. "I would just ask Cassandra at this point, I spoke with her again on my way here. She can't remember where she was or how to get there, too many contaminents in her bloodstream wrecking her mind. And if we don't intercept The Seraphim, the countless attending Christmas services at midnight will die." When Jason said nothing, Bruce added, "You have the power to stop that from happening."

Jason just held his uneasy look for a few seconds, turning away from Bruce and saying, "… You need to tell Gordon… He can keep those things from filling up. Tell people to stay away."

"I'm going to do that. But don't you dare pretend that you're innocent in all of this. I'm doing everything in my power to stop all of that destruction from happening. If you withhold anything from me, you're not doing the same."

Bruce then departed, hoping he had planted the first seeds that would lead Jason to a confession. "Keep an eye on him," Bruce said to Alfred as he departed for the cave.

…

Sliding on only his cowl out of paranoia, Bruce booted up the largest computer within the cave and put in a call to Gordon's private phone number, unsure if he would be on duty that night or not. Sure enough, he answered the phone groggily, freshly pulled from his sleep. "Hello?"

"Jim. I have information. Something big is about to happen."

"Figures I can't even get a day off in the Christmas season," Gordon grunted.

"I know about The Seraphim's next attack. At midnight on Christmas Eve, he is planning to destroy every church, and everyone inside every church, in Gotham."

"What?" Gordon demanded. "That's… That's completely ridiculous! That's over a thousand-"

"Over _five_ thousand," Batman said gravely. "You're not the first person to say that."

"You surely understand why I can't just drop that in everyone's lap," Gordon said. "Just announcing a terrorist attack of that magnitude would cause catastrophic paranoia. There are channels I have to go through to do this properly!"

"Well, we have just under twenty-four hours," Batman replied.

"Thanks for the tip. I won't waste this," Gordon said. "I'll talk to Hady first thing in the morning, he probably won't be receptive to it now… And I hope you're getting closer to brining that madman to justice."

"The pieces are all in place," Batman said. "The game can only have a few turns left to it."

…

"And then I stomped on his knee, held his own knife up to him and was like, 'Let me show you I'm a worst Robin than you ever were!', and I swear he about peed his pants when I did."

Cassandra was laughing, though it hurt her sore ribs to do so. "You said that?"

"I'm paraphrasing," Stephanie giggled. "It was a complete rush, I wiped the stupid smirk right off his face… After I broke his mask into a million pieces."

"You did well," Cassandra said, still smiling. With Cassandra conscience again, the Bat-family was taking turns in her room, so as not to overload her senses and return her slowly. Everyone brought something different with them, though it was Stephanie she carried the most feelings, new and recurring, and she was the easiest to share with.

"So, all laughs aside… How are you feeling?" Stephanie asked, her tone becoming somewhat serious. "I mean… I barely knew what was happening when we were talking last time. Like I said, like _everyone's_ said, we were scared to death for you."

"I know," Cassandra said, looking down a little.

"I mean… Is it wrong to assume we're still friends?" Stephanie asked.

"Best friends," Cassandra reassured.

"And how about you and God? Are you guys still friends too?"

"We are," Cassandra assured her again. "When I was in there… When The Seraphim had me… I thought I lost that. I did not want a god who did not want me."

"But something ended up changing your mind?" Stephanie asked.

"I saw him… I saw Jesus before I woke up," Cassandra said. "And I knew he wanted me… In hard life, in dire times, he showed he would always love me." She paused, contemplating her words and the time spent in doubt before. "… Maybe it was all just a beautiful dream… But I choose to believe it."

Stephanie stood up and the two embraced yet again. "And you figured all that out yourself. I'm so proud of you Cassie. And the church is going to be so lucky to have someone like you." The two sat quietly for a minute or so before she added, "So, think you're going to take the Angel thing full time now?"

"I want to… But maybe bright white was a bad idea after all," Cassandra said, turning a little red in embarrassment.

"You gotta tell me if you wanna make the switch for good," Stephanie said with a smile. "If your Batgirl position is up for grabs, I want it. I've been thinking for ages that suit could use a little purple…"

…

In the earliest hour of sunlight on December 24th, Commissioner Gordon rose from his bed, scratching at his eyes and fumbling around for his glasses. Not five minutes after his awakening, his phone began to ring again. With a little struggle to locate it after the restless night he had had, Gordon answered with another, "Hello?"

"Did you sleep well, commissioner?"

"Who wants to know?" Gordon asked.

"The voice of God himself."

Gordon froze and stared at the phone. "What the hell do you want?"

"I went to work tapping your landline as soon as a certain… Friend of mine escaped," The Seraphim answered. "The Batman's done an excellent job concealing the number he calls you from and keeping himself untraceable. But I've slashed all of the wireless internet to your home for entire blocks. You're about to take a little vacation."

"Vacation? What are you talking about-"

"If you make a call to the station. To Hady. To Batman. If you so much as step out of that apartment, I will blast you straight to hell. I have come too far for you to foil me now."

…

At eleven in the morning, Barabara wheeled herself over to her cell phone to take a call from a number she wasn't sure she recognized. "Hello?" She asked.

"Hey there Barbie," the hesitant voice of her father said.

"Oh, hey Dad," Barbara said, smiling as she pushed herself towards the hallway.

"I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas… You doing okay over there?"

"Yeah. Well, better ever since Wayne's daughter turned up again." Barbara hated simplifying her relationship with the Wayne family, but had to maintain a sense of distance to protect everyone's identity. It was a small sacrifice.

"Yeah, I heard a little about that. Good stuff. Very good."

"I was just going to get Charlie some water. I've been so busy and he's been missing me lately."

"Um… Is Charlie coming to Christmas dinner tomorrow? Have I met him?" Gordon asked, trying to convince his daughter through his tone and pauses there was more to his call than the simple matters they were talking about.

At this point, Barbara had begun to suspect, but coolly replied, "Charlie's my canary, remember? I think I remind you of that every time you call."

"Oh right," Gordon said. "That's right. My mistake." She would have chuckled, but the gravity of the situation was beginning to strike her.

"Is everything okay?" She asked.

"Everything is fine," Gordon replied. "It's just… Remember what I used to tell you? If you didn't have any Christmas present ideas, none at all, you had to tell me before it was too late, so I could still do something for you?"

Tears were welling up in Barbara's eyes, her mind rushing to the thought of _Oh my God, please no_. "Dad? Yes… I remember that."

"I don't have any present ideas."

Gordon, in his eternal fear for his daughter's safety, had once arranged with her a number of phrases she could say to him in a desperate situation over the phone. Thankfully, she had never used, "I don't have any present ideas." The phrase was very grave and concealed a fearful meaning: "I am trapped. There is nothing I can think to do. The rest is up to you."

"… Thank you. I'll find you something for Christmas," Barbara replied, struggling to keep her composure. "I'll figure something out… I love you Dad. And Merry Christmas to you too."

…

[[And as Malachi is the final book of the Christian Old Testament, this Malachi is the last chapter before the grand finale kicks off.

Buckle up.]]


	41. Chapter 37

"Gordon's been added to the list. I can only assume he's only still alive to prevent panic from overtaking the city."

"…"

"I've tried to call the local parishes. The few who answer think this is some kind of sick joke by a raging atheist. I've tried contacting Vicki Vale at the Gazette, but they neither buy that I am who I say I am or that this has any validity… I need your help, Jason."

"…"

"You think I like coming to you for this? Because I don't. But as you'll recall, we were in this position once before. Teetering on the edge of war, ready to see a mad zealot overtake our city… I don't care what you stand for or how you've changed, if you don't answer me, you're letting Blackfire win from beyond the grave."

"… It was hard enough to put him in one to begin with."

The former master and student met eyes within his tiny containment room, neither sure how to best approach the other until Bruce said, "Maybe in your mind you are a hero. You're hardly the only one fighting crime with a body count… But if you don't tell me where The Seraphim is hiding, you will never be able to claim that again."

"I'm not like Superman," Jason replied. "I can live with casualties. People will die, whether I'm around or not."

"But you have the power to stop them from dying," Bruce said with a glare. "And if you have that power and refuse to use it, you will live out the rest of your life bathed in their blood."

"Yeah?" Jason sneered.

"I will never let you out of this room. I will punish you with their names. The names of innocent men, women and children, every day for the rest of your life." At this Jason began to show a small twinge of fear. "You will stand knowing your stubbornness has filled graveyards. Suppose just one person, just one minister or priest is in every one of those churches, Jason. You'll have exceeded Joker's body count in a single night."

"Don't you _dare_ bring the clown into this!" Jason roared. "You and that blonde-haired bitch throw his name around like it's nothing- he beat me to death for the hell of it Bruce! I'm nothing like him! He's a maniac without a shred of regard for human life!"

"And you're proving no better," Bruce said coldly. "First he was known as Red Hood, then out of a brief encounter with me, he lost his sense of empathy-"

"Stop it, Bruce, stop it!" Jason commanded.

"Why don't you just be a bigger man than him?"

At this notion Jason rose out of his chair and threw a punch at Bruce's face, one his old mentor was easily able to dodge as he moved to the opposite end of the room. Jason tried to peruse him but cried out in pain and fell on one knee after the first few steps.

"Damn leg!" He yelled through gritting teeth. "That vixen of yours ruined me!"

"You're not going to talk about her like that," Bruce asserted, taking a few steps closer. "I heard all about her little venture and your exchange. There's only room for one 'Worst Robin' Jason, and that's you."

"Shut up!" Jason roared. "Shut up!"

"But you have a chance to redeem yourself," Bruce told him. "And you don't have to be ruined like this forever. She's getting the care she needs and in a few months, she'll be totally healed. I can do the same for you Jason. All I'm asking in return, is that you do. The right. Thing."

Jason was grasping at his forehead and gritting his teeth as if totally at odds with what to do with these commands. He wouldn't surrender. He had told himself for days he would never surrender to Bruce again… But Bruce was right. He had been injured and could hardly walk, even after all the time that had passed. He couldn't possibly hope to battle The Seraphim and stop what was foretold… Maybe Bruce was bluffing…? No. Bruce was a bastard, he told himself. A self-absorbed, pompous bastard who didn't know anything about the greater good… But he would never fake something of this magnitude. And if this was all true, no matter what he had said about innocents in Gotham, he could not permit this to happen.

"… The subway."

"What?"

"Blackfire, some ancestor of his, I don't know who, but one of them was one of the foremen on the Gotham Subway," Jason said bitterly. "How the hell could you not have figured it out? Their base is built directly below the subway. That's how they slip through the streets unnoticed and that's how they have the firepower to blow up all those churches. There aren't bombs _inside_, they're underneath the foundation, probably attached to the ceiling of railroad tunnels and waiting to be detonated. He's right under your nose, Wayne. He always has been."

The two remained in their position for about a minute before Bruce turned away and said, "Go to Leslie Thompkins' clinic. Tell her I said I'd foot the bill. Your leg is going to need surgery, Jason, but it should heal, given some time. You're to leave as soon as I've left the premises. Don't let me catch you on my streets again."

He was halfway to the door when Jason gave a halfhearted, "Bruce," and he turned again. "The entrances are all crawling with security once you slip in. The best I ever managed to do was briefly get into some of their stores a block or two east of Finnegan's bar. They probably don't come out of there very often, too many cops. From what I gathered their main headquarters is somewhere around Toxic Acres. They might have a tram running down there or something, considering that thing is entire miles long."

Bruce took his time to reply, but after considering this, said, "Thank you."

"Kick their asses."

Bruce put in a quick phone call to Alfred, who let him out of Jason's enclosed chamber and out into the fifth floor hallway. "Did he finally have something for you, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked.

"He did. And it just means we have even more work to do and not much time to do it."

…

Bruce gathered together with Tim, Dick and Stephanie again around Cassandra's hospital bed, Barbara linked to them via laptop. "We're only going to have a few hours to shut this whole thing down. Jason may have finally budged on their location, but it will be a fierce confrontation to overcome them from within… Barbara, what are our numbers?"

"Not favorable, to be honest. Superman's off-earth dealing with… I don't even know what, _something_, I tried to get ahold of the Titans but all of my emails are coming back undelivered… All things considered, that's more likely the Calculator trying to screw with me than it is anything The Seraphim is doing. So… As is you've got the Birds as backup. On top of those three."

"Two," Bruce said sternly. "Stephanie's not going with us tonight."

"What?" She demanded. "After what they did to Cassie? You're seriously expecting me to sit this out?"

"You are injured," Cassandra said, sitting up.

"You've played your part," Bruce replied. "You captured Jason and we're feeling the effects of that. But your leg is still damaged and you don't need to put any more unnecessary strain on it. Especially in circumstances as grave as these." Stephanie crossed her arms and turned away. "And there's still the matter of not letting him take Gordon as leverage… Dick, I want you and Huntress to get Jim out of his apartment at all costs. The Seraphim will probably have reinforcements ready for you and might level the building if he feels the need. It's a dangerous mission, do you understand?"

"C'mon Bruce, I wrangled a missile shot by Vandal Savage once. I can handle this," Dick said with a smirk.

"Don't get too confident. This maniac might be crazier with his last thirty years than Savage has been in the last thousand. At least Savage usually knew what he was talking about." Bruce then turned towards Tim. "Tim, you, me, Zinda and Dinah will attack their stronghold beneath the subway." Bruce looked back to Barbara, "We have one person in this entire city with a power and we're going to need her."

"I wish I could help," Cassandra said, and in response Bruce put a hand on her shoulder.

"You've done enough. We're finally closing in on The Seraphim. The city owes you everything now, Cassandra. We know how to finally put an end to all this. We won't let this chance go in vain."

…

At six PM, as darkness began to overtake the city, four figures traversed the streets a block away from Finnegan's Bar, stepping into the unusually empty Gotham subway. With the citizens of the city settled in with their families for Christmas Eve, few but the most procrastination-inclined denizens were boarding the trains. There were many who double-took at the sight of Batman, Robin, alongside the leather clad blonde, Black Canary and the one with the bob-cut, anachronistic war uniform and short skirt, Lady Blackhawk. None of them paid any mind to the civilians as they pointed and yelled, pausing only when the subway arrived and left. The four proceeded onto the tracks and into the black of the tunnel.

"Ol' Barbara always told us you were stacked, Batman," the cheerful Blackhawk called from the back. "I hope you plan to throw us a heck of a Christmas party when this is all over!"

"Glad someone's maintaining some calm here," Batman remarked under his breath. "Keep that energy for the battlefield, Zinda."

"We on a first name basis now?" She asked. "I think I've earned a peek under that mask then."

When Batman didn't respond, Robin remarked, "Don't take it personally. He's like this for everyone."

Tapping a few switches on his cowl, Batman scanned the tunnel for several hundred yards, triggering his night vision and searching for the entrance Jason had described. "There," Batman said, stepping forward a little farther and identifying a handle sticking between the tracks.

"You want me to blow it down?" Canary asked as he failed to pull it open.

"Too specific for the enemy," Bruce remarked, drawing a spray-cartridge from his belt and spraying onto the bolts that held the trapdoor in place. "I'll handle it." And with a flick of a switch the explosive gel blasted the bolts holding the entrance in place. Tossing the cover aside, the four could see the vertical passage, along with a ladder, descending into a deeper black.

"Alright," Batman said, bracing himself and his company. "We're going behind enemy lines… I dealt with an epidemic like this once with The Seraphim's predecessor, but these men are far more organized and have a singular, clear endgame. The Seraphim wants me for himself, and judging by his past words, he wants to break all of you like he tried to do to Batgirl."

"The hell? He doesn't even know we associate," Canary remarked. "They've been shooting to kill for the last week. Where are you getting your idea from?"

"It's what he said back in Arkham," Batman replied. "But it doesn't matter. We won't give him that chance. He wants me dead and he wants all of you converted. We will not be giving him the satisfaction."

And with that, Batman grabbed and slid down the ladder into the mouth of madness, his three companions mere steps behind him.

…

"I don't see anyone around that looks suspicious," Dick said, scanning Commissioner Gordon's apartment just across the street. He turned to his companion, dressed in an oversized fur coat that managed to conceal the black and purple spandex she wore underneath. For Dick's part he was garbed in a winter jacket and sweatpants, covering his own uniform, a domino mask tucked into his pocket. "We've gotta play it cool though. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," an exacerbated Helena Bertinelli sighed. "Mob violence, mass murdering clowns and religious psychopaths… Just another day in Gotham I guess."

With a mutual nod, the two casually crossed the street, remaining inconspicuous as they made their way to the building. It was a nice place formed of old brick, easy on the eyes and warm after slipping through the doors. The path to the elevators was clear, and seemingly without issue, Dick and Helena rode it up to the eleventh floor, Dick tucking his hair under a stocking cap for good measure before they arrived.

The hallway seemed empty, though laughter could be heard in a few of the rooms the two walked, the thought of the coming danger making Dick sick to his stomach. If anything screwed up… No, he told himself, nothing would go wrong. Everything would be fine.

With a knock on the door, the weary Jim Gordon was rather slow to answer, carefully looking out from his door's peephole when he did. With a rattle of the chain Gordon answered and carefully examined the two. "Who's there?"

"C'mon Jim, I know its been a while, but you know me," Dick said, faking a chuckle and opening his arms. "It's Dick. Your daughter and I used to date."

Gordon opened the door wider, looking between him and Helena. "Dick Grayson? What are you doing here? And who is this?"

"A mutual friend of ours," Dick remarked. "Didn't Babs tell you? We've been patching things up lately. She said I should give Helena a ride and come to Christmas Eve dinner."

Gordon began to suspect something at this point. "But we don't have a dinner for-"

"And she also told me," Dick added slowly, "That you didn't have any idea of what presents she could get you for Christmas."

Gordon's eyes widened at this statement as he motioned that the two come in, shutting and locking the door behind him as they entered. "Well I can't imagine what Barbara was thinking of regarding celebrating Christmas Eve, but you two are better in here than out there."

"Babs mentioned you had a bit of a bug problem," Dick said, his eyes darting to every corner of the living room. "Must be a pain."

"It is," Gordon said quietly. "I don't even know where they all go."

Dick gave a motion to Helena as she opened her coat and revealed three line launchers, entrusted to her by Batman before the groups split for the night. She opened one of the larger windows in the living room and looked to another old brick building across the street.

"I don't know about you two," Helena remarked, "But all this snow has been giving me a bad case of cabin fever. I just want a little fresh air in here-"

At this there came a sudden banging on the door. "Drop 'em!" A voice outside commanded.

"Crap, they know we're here! Helena, get down!" He shouted, grabbing Gordon and ducking as Helena triggered the three launchers, piercing into wall and extending over into the building across the alley. In moments gunfire began to rip and tear the door of Gordon's apartment to pieces, the commissioner and Dick clasping their hands over their ears.

"No point being subtle anymore," Helena remarked, shedding her coat and slipping he great black and purple mask over her eyes, grabbing her crossbow. Standing now as Huntress, she fired a few dull-tipped bolts at the door, breaking through and crashing into the heads of the black-garbed men outside.

"What on earth is-"

"No time to explain," Dick said, helping Gordon to his feet and pushing him towards the three launchers. "Grab on and get out of here. We'll be right behind you!"

Gordon stared at the wire holding the launcher in place, unsure how it could possibly support his weight before Dick yelled, "Go!" And he reluctantly pushed off, sailing over the streets below and clinging on for dear life.

Dick and Huntress grabbed ahold of their own as Dick threw a few wing dings into the hall for good measure, the sound of the other tenants screaming in fear and confusion filling him with dread. "… I have to make sure they're okay," Dick said, releasing his launcher.

"What are you doing?!" Huntress demanded.

"I'm not letting them kill anyone tonight," Dick said firmly. "Take Gordon and get out of here. I need to make sure there aren't more of them crawling around."

"Nightwing-"

"Do it!" He commanded, running out into the hallway, and moments later Huntress reluctantly complied.

Dick grabbed ahold of one of the downed men, lifting him up by his shirt collar and glaring into his eyes. "How many more of you are there?" Dick demanded.

"Enough to lock this place down… Not that we need it," his enemy replied with a chuckle, revealing a detonator latched to his belt. "Gotham's favorite commissioner is gonna go up in smoke!"

And with a push of a button the apartment erupted in a deafening, fiery explosion, one Dick managed to evade quickly (but still felt the burn of) but quickly consumed The Seraphim's two servants and severed the lines Gordon and Huntress clung to. Outside the aging commissioner felt the opposite side of his line give way, and barely managed to position his body so as not to slam into the building he was gliding towards. Huntress managed to execute a similar maneuver as the two clung to their launchers against the wall, nervously looking at nearly a hundred feet of pavement still beneath them.

"Any ideas?" Huntress asked, searching for some way to cushion get down from the substantial height.

"How about this one?" Gordon asked, sidling over to one of the building's few windows and shattering it with a kick, sliding in thereafter and motioning Huntress join him. The two made it in quickly and caught a troubled glimpse at the burning room, the others around it, thankfully, appearing unharmed. "Good God… Could he have even survived that?"

"He used to be a circus performer, sir," Huntress replied. "Come on, we're getting you out of here."

Across the way Dick tore off his jacket and sweatpants, slipping on his mask and rushing towards the elevator doors. Nightwing could hear yelling and gunfire beneath him and was sure The Seraphim's servants would be taking the lift up towards him. Gripping the two sides of the door with as much strength as he could, Nightwing forced it open and glared down at the ascending carriage. Sure he wouldn't have much time for anything else, Nightwing reached into one of the hidden compartments of his uniform, sliding a small container and allowing the mechanism within to unlock. Pulling on his gloves, Nightwing clung to the side of the elevator shaft as he began smearing the contents of the container onto the eight steel cables holding the lift in place.

Within seconds the gunk began to eat through the first cable, slightly but notably slowing the elevator's rise. As Nightwing jumped and, as necessary, swung, across the shaft, he coated every cable, the elevator slowing more with each broken link as the men within began to yell with impatience. With the last of the cables covered, Nightwing jumped out from the elevator shaft as, seconds later, the carriage went careening downward for a few seconds before halting, safe but unable to move.

"Thankfully that doesn't work the way action movies always said it would," he chuckled. With that Nightwing raised a communicator to his mouth. "Oracle, Jim's safe. What's our next step?"

"Batman's already beneath the subway. I'll find the nearest entrance for you and Huntress… Is it true? He's really secure?"

"Yeah Babs, he's okay," Nightwing assured. "It's a Christmas miracle."

…

Three of The Seraphim's servants stood leaned against the wall near the tracks of the tram, one of them remarking, "Collins better get back here with the rations already. I know we're not having the feast til the party's over, but just a little something for now isn't going to hurt anything."

"You know Collins," one of the others remarked. "Probably hogging the fresh stuff for himself. Watch him come back and try and patch things up with jerky. Kid's an idiot- Oh, there we go!"

As he was speaking, the tram began to slow to a screeching halt and stopped just in front of the three, who glanced uninterested at it for a moment before one of them double took. "What the? It's empty."

The three looked towards the tram and, unsure where the riders could possibly be, took a few steps forward to glance in. Instantly Batman, Robin and Blackhawk jumped out, grabbed the back of the men's heads and crashed their faces down into the tram's guardrails, instantly knocking them unconscious and allowing they and Black Canary to get to their feet and step out.

"Looks like we got the easy part finished with," Robin said, dusting off his hands. "You said this will lead into the heart of this place?"

"It should, though the maps posted in the tram weren't to any kind of scale," Batman remarked, pressing two fingers to his cowl. "Oracle, you find anything on this place yet?"

"Fraid not," Barbara managed to say through an increasing layer of static. "This place just doesn't exist as far as any of my research can tell. Nightwing and Huntress have saved Gordon and are headed to you as fast as possible."

"Good," Batman replied. "Though hopefully we won't need them." Ready to lead his charge, Batman motioned that the three follow him as he slowly approached the door leading to the network of passages that would eventually bring them to the chapel, where Batman was sure The Seraphim would be operating from. He first pressed an ear to the door, trying to judge if anything awaited them on the other side before nodding to the others, opening the door and motioning them in.

The corridors were dimly lit and broke off into a number of smaller passages with every hundred feet or so. Most of the passages led only to empty looking rooms, probably containing supplies, ammunition or stolen goods. At one point, as Batman scanned the upcoming hallway, he identified a few bodies on the other side of the door's smudged window. Concluding they must be guarding the passage back to the subway, he silently motioned that all of his allies duck down low as they walked past it. With every step, Batman remained aware his connection back to Oracle was growing weaker.

"The static's getting worse," Batman told her. "Don't assume we're finished until I tell you we are, got it?"

"Will do."

…

"I wish I could do more for them. For you. For anyone, really," Stephanie admitted, looking over the sleeping Cassandra. "My mom's probably gonna flip if I'm not home when she gets there, being Christmas Eve and all… I know she deserves better, but man its been a screwed up holiday season. We all need to take a vacation. Bruce outta put us up somewhere nice, that'd be a great present… I'm sorry I keep babbling. I know you can't hear me and all… I think I should get home, Cass. Rest up my leg. Prepare to hear all about what a great adventure they had without me tomorrow. Guess it's all for the best." Stephanie pushed out of her seat and laid a hand on Cassandra's shoulder, quietly saying, "Get feeling better, okay?" Before she stepped out of the room and made for the streets to catch a bus home.

About ten minutes later, Cassandra opened her eyes and pushed herself up, wide awake, having been faking for almost an hour. She knew Batman had given everyone a part to play. But he hadn't accounted for one thing. She hadn't told him absolutely everything. If he did exactly as he said, if everything worked out, the war still would not be over.

The Seraphim had his own plans for the night. She knew exactly where he'd be. His comments, his statements, the way his blood boiled… Cassandra knew none of them were going to be there to stop him. Reaching over for the sheet of paper she had already looked over many times, she grabbed the phone and punched in the number.

Within a minute or two there came a yawn and a, "Hello?"

"Sadie," Cassandra said. "It is Cassandra."

"Holy crap! You're awake?! I can't even believe it, how are you-"

"I do not have much time," Cassandra said. "I am sorry, but I must hurry… I need a favor."

"Oh, um, yeah, sure," Sadie replied. "I mean, you saved my life… What is it?"

"Do you have a car?"

"I _can_ if you need me to," she said. "Mom's passed out again. Why?"

"I need to get home. Right now."

"Were you cleared? Isn't your dad there-"

"I just need to go!" Cassandra stressed. "Please, I need to leave now!"

Sadie was silenced by the force in her voice before she quickly replied, "I'll be there… Do you need to fill out any paperwork or-"

"Drive next to my window," Cassandra said, peering through the blinds next to the icy street that ran next to the building.

"What the- You're insane! I know I already thought that with swimming the river but this-"

"_Please_!" Cassandra pleaded. "I cannot explain now. I just have to leave. Immediately."

"… Alright. I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes, it's the least I owe you."

…

"The two escaped with Gordon, sir. And judging by the unconscious bodies we found down in the stores and by the tram, they've infiltrated our base."

"A frustrating setback, to be sure," The Seraphim remarked. "But we will compensate. Your orders hold, unless you lose the trigger, Lester. Capture them all, save his servants, and leave the Bat himself for me."

"Yes master," the old preacher said. "Truly, on this night, we accomplish our greatest triumph."

"Indeed we do," The Seraphim replied, stepping out of the shadow of the gigantic bell at his side and looking down at Saint Michael's cathedral as snow continued to cover its massive rooftop.

"They who imprisoned my ancestor… Appeal to a false prophet across the sea… They who claim to have founded us… We will punish them all tonight, but they who have sinned most, will suffer first."

[[Pretty much everything in the next chapter was originally going to be part of this one, but as I like to write looooooooooooong climaxes spread across more space, I decided to split this one roughly in half. Hopefully they'll both come out better this way and it isn't too obvious.]]


	42. Chapter 38

Through the catacombs the four continued, no sign of natural light or even proper direction to be seen anywhere. "How the hell does a group so full of morons build such an elaborate system of tunnels?" Blackhawk questioned.

"They only need one person in charge to plan all this out," Batman said. "I knew Blackfire played the long game, but this is just unreal."

"You don't s'pose we could just ask for directions?" Black Canary asked. "Zinda and I have been handling these guys. Knock the guns out of their hands and they're a bunch of cowards."

"I'm not going to rush and find out what kind of alarm system The Seraphim has set up down here," Batman said.

Ironically, within a minute of his saying this came a low, shaking rumble sound, but within moments of its sounding came the realization it was prerecorded. As the foghorn like sound consumed the passageways, several men stepped out of their guarded chambers and looked out in confusion.

"What the hell is that?" One of them shouted. As they came ever so slightly into view, Batman leaned against the wall and hid Robin under his cape, the Birds mimicking his stance and remaining totally silent.

"It's the boss's alarm!" Another on the opposite side of the chamber yelled. "We gotta get to the chapel. He… No, wait, he's out. Lester will have an announcement. Come on!"

The four hardly took a breath as seven men ran past them, two Cherubim a few paces behind. After about ten minutes in this stance, Batman relaxed his stance and let Robin out from under his cape as the halls cleared. "Well, that was easy," he said. "The question is do we try and follow them or do we search this place all we possibly can?"

"Whoever Lester is he's probably the one in charge while Lebowitz is away," Batman remarked. "And he'll probably know how to shut this thing down from the inside.

"But we are going to see them all set up in the same place at the same time," Black Canary noted. "They've got numbers, they've probably got a lot of guns. Rushing in would not bode well for us."

"These aren't normal criminals though," Batman said. "Threatening one of their leaders might force them into cooperation."

"You're putting a lot of stock into how big a' suckers you think these guys are," Blackhawk chuckled.

"They've just been giving me too much to work with." He pressed his fingers to his cowl once again. "Oracle, can you still hear me?"

"J..st ba…ley," Barbara managed to say through the heavy static.

"Tell Nightwing and Huntress to make their way down here quickly. Everyone in the vicinity is going to be concentrated to one location. They should be able to get down here with little difficulty."

"Un…Oood."

Within the next few steps Batman was sure the connection to Oracle had been lost entirely. With a nod to the other three they proceeded through the catacombs again, each footstep as light as they could make it as darkness threatened to consume them. Still, there was no going back now.

…

There was a light _creak_ of the sound of Barbara Gordon's apartment door that she instantly turned herself around to see. Standing right at the doorway's threshold, tired, weak but smiling, was Commissioner James Gordon.

"Heck of a job you pulled off there, soldier," he said, Barbara pushing her chair as fast as she could to meet him and wrapping her arms tight around her father. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," Barbara said, fighting off tears. "Thank goodness you're safe."

At this point, Huntress too crossed into the room, arms folded over and eyeing her confidant carefully. "We figured this would be the safest place for him right now… Dick is fine, by the way. I don't know what he's told you, but we rendezvoused a few minutes ago."

"Good," she said.

"He's safe? I can hardly believe it after what they did to the old place. I know I gave him a lot of crap back in the day, Babs, but he really just pulled through. And so did you."

"Well, we can't celebrate just yet, Dad," Barbara said, turning back towards her computer. "Batman said he sent you the message last night. You know what's going on, we've got a lot of other people we still have to save tonight."

"That's right… What can I do? I can get the rest of the force out as fast as possible, but we don't even know where to go."

"A large scale invasion of that base, from what Batman told me, would be suicide," Barbara replied. "If there's anything you can do, it's try and warn everyone to stay away from the churches."

"We're going to be spread way too thin if we try and close off every church in the city," Gordon said gravely. "It's seven-thirty now. We don't have a lot of time to carry this out and who knows how many people we can really stop anyway. There's no way Hady is going to clear this."

"We've got to do anything we can," Barbara said. "And that's just worst case scenario. That's if Batman can't gut this thing at its roots… Huntress," she then turned to Helena, typing a few notes into one of her maps of the city. "Based on what Batman told me about his location, I think we can safely estimate where a few more entrances to The Seraphim's hideout are. Including this one." She pointed at a small spot on the map a mile up the river from Dixon Docks. "Judging by the phone that Sadie girl said she used to call the ambulance for herself and Cassandra, there should be an entrance right around here. Batman said his forces were distracted at the moment, so you and Nightwing should hurry and break in through there."

Huntress gave Barbara a nod, already pressing a finger to her mask to describe the location that had been given to her.

…

Towards the end of the long black passageway, Batman, Robin, Canary and Blackhawk arrived in a small section bathed in light. There was a small door which, upon closer examination, led to six small, individual cells, all of them sitting empty, but a terrible smell of sweat and blood wafting out of it. Not far across from the room there stood two gigantic wooden doors, etched with decorative crosses and figures with wings. Standing just before the door where four Cherubim stood guard. No sound permeated from the room behind the gigantic doors, but it was clear by the size of the door and the guards that this must have been where The Seraphim's servants were congregating.

"They have to be in there. And someone inside should have our answers," Batman muttered. "Now we just need a way in without tipping off security. I don't want to try and fight them all at once if we don't have to."

"How about a vent?" Robin asked, scanning the surrounding area. "No… Wait… I don't see one."

"What about a hostage?" Canary proposed. "If they think they've captured one of us, they'll probably open the doors to gloat."

"Or they'll try to kill you two on the spot," Batman said, looking between her and Blackhawk. After a brief contemplation, he pointed out, "It's not as if we can hear anything that's going on in there… But those men in the masks probably have some way to alert them if we try and make our way in… Damn, they aren't making this easy."

"Well, it's all tied in to those masks, right?" Robin asked. "Get the masks off and they can't tell left from right."

"It's a shame Zatanna's not here… But I think I can make due." With that, he drew a batarang out from his belt and pressed a small, circular object into its center. "The electrical pulse should knock the four of them offline, then we can force them out of our way."

With that, Batman tossed the batarang at the ground before the four figures. They all exchanged looks with one another before one, the Eagle, took a step forward to examine it. As he did, Batman flicked the switch on the remote he held in his hand and, though he did not know it, filled the four's heads with static. With nothing more than a nod, the four heroes rushed out to meet them.

The sudden attack left the four Cherubim thrown off, allowing Batman, Robin and the two Birds of Prey to quickly overtake them. Robin swiftly beat down and tore off the mask of the Eagle, pausing only twice to block the attacks of his short blades, staff in one hand, the other closed into a fist. Blackhawk and Canary jumped at the Lion and Ox, both of whom were too slow to keep up with the women at the peak of physical condition. The Birds switched between the two targets every few strikes before simultaneously smashing their heads together, shattering their masks. And for his own part, Batman pulled another electrically charged pellet from his belt and forced it into the Man's right arm, instantly forcing him to loosen his grip on his face and permitting Batman to easily send him crashing into the wall, breaking the mask with a few more strikes thereafter.

The Dark Knight smiled at their handiwork. The enemies that had once given them so much trouble had been dispatched as if they were nothing. He then slowly approached the imposing doors, drawing another gadget out from his belt, plugging it into his cowl and pressing it to the entryway. Faintly, he could hear a voice he did not recognize ranting to the room.

"… And for these sins we shall at last force Gotham to face its recompense! And no force in this world, not Batman, not his disciples, no one but God almighty himself will stop this deliverance! Gotham's destruction is in my hand, and we shall reap it upon all this city's slime and hypocrites in a few short hours."

"Whoever is in there has the trigger," Batman said ruefully. "But we still have some time before he can use it. We can still-"

"Ah, but my brothers, there remain those who would see our works quashed," the voice continued. "Some that would like to destroy the years of work The Seraphim has pushed for… Some who believe we would stand by and be defeated!"

With that Batman suddenly heard a tiny but consistent beeping sound. Staring at the door for a moment, he yelled, "Get back!" As he and his companions jumped backwards. Nothing much came of it, no great explosion or the like, only their sudden reveal to the church full of The Seraphim's servants. One in particular, dressed in preacher's garb and holding some kind of trigger, flashed them a sinister grin.

"They're pull doors from that side, Batman," he sneered. "And the sensors within are designed to reveal any unwanted intruders… Not that we need to keep you out. Come, and join us. We were just holding our evening's prayer service. I see you even picked up a few tramps off the street! Maybe God can teach them a little about modesty!"

There had to be at least eighty men, all dressed in the same black as always, packed into the chapel, another eight Cherubim at their sides.

"Hell of a lot of em'," Black Canary said under her breath. "That's fine, we can take em', let's party!"

The ensuing melee was an intense and disproportionate sight. It was obvious not a single warrior within the room could possibly fight any of them alone, but their numbers gave them a distinct advantage. As Black Canary jumped between enemies, delivering punches and kicks, one of a few were constantly getting handfuls of her hair and jerking her every which way. Through a grit of her teeth she managed to knock them off, but seconds later another attacker would take their place. The grab-strategies of the room quickly forced Batman and Robin to abandon their capes. Batarangs, shurriken and the strings and wires of grappling hooks filled the room, the four heroes struggling to maintain any kind of advantage against their attackers.

Once in a while Batman, Robin and Blackhawk managed to congregate towards the center of the room and deliver a few more knockouts, but the attacks continued in the form of heavy barrage after heavy barrage.

Black Canary, however, was in the worst to straights. Quickly separated from the rest of group and her attackers not abstaining from deadly force, she was sure she felt a few hairs cut from her head as she managed to narrowly avoid a number of knife strikes. But even she knew she couldn't keep up like that forever. The constant attacks from the rest were slowly wearing down on her technique, and unlike the other three, she wasn't able to catch her breath. Even amongst her nose-breaking, consciousness ending kicks, she knew her strength was quickly wearing down.

And then she felt the blade enter her lower back.

Canary had been in the midst of a jump backwards, trying to avoid an incoming strike when one of the Cherubim, an Eagle, managed to finally get a stab into the desperate Bird. She instantly grit her teeth, struggling to fight the pain before she decided enough was simply enough. The fight had to end as quickly as it started.

Out from her mouth at last came the Canary Cry, the pitch threatening to shatter the rooms stained glass as Robin, Blackhawk and Batman all held hands over their ears, struggling to block it out. The reaction from the rest of the room, however, was radically different.

With Black Canary's scream, others soon accompanied it. The men gathered in the chamber were roaring in agony, the preacher in the front of the chamber clutching his forehead, as if he was fighting a violent aneurism. The eyes of the men in the room went wide and wild, mucus beginning to drip from their mouths as they screamed words unintelligible. The ones who were simply violent before were now screeching in abject terror, their attacks losing all grace but becoming a hundred times more intense. Hands scratched at Robin and Blackhawk's faces, those who could be pinned to the ground quickly were and kicked repeatedly before they could catch a single breath. Though Black Canary continued to fight as best she could, soon there came a rush of The Seraphim's servants rushing and tackling her, snarling and screaming, "Harpy!" or "Succubus!" as they did.

Within minutes of the call, Batman was the only one still standing, beating and rushing between any of the suddenly enraged opponents he possibly could, his eyes remaining firmly on the preacher in the front of the room, holding his head and appearing to cry into the podium. Batman made a run for him when a path appeared to open, but was quickly body-checked by both of the Men, who managed to pin him to the ground as the rest of the Cherubs gathered around, Batman unable to overcome the eight of them at once as they repeatedly beat and stomped on his body.

"Enough… ENOUGH!" The preacher roared, fighting with all his willpower to regain his composure. "Are you all so drunk on Mist that you did not hear me? I SAID ENOUGH!" The room seemed to calm, ever so slightly, as he struggled to keep hold on himself, as if fighting some horrible transformation. "We have our orders… The Batman lives! His disciple lives! The whores…" He snarled. "I want them to drown! Take them and the boy into the White Room! If you dare to make us drink of that font, you shall do so yourself!"

And despite all efforts the four made, the Cherubim forced their separation, dragging Black Canary, Blackhawk and Robin into the White Room while forcing Batman into the very cell that had contained his daughter shortly before. The preacher gasped for breath desperately, the burst of Mist chemicals brought on by the cry horribly disheveling him as he called his master.

"Sire, we… We have them! Batman, Robin, the two women, we have them!" He yelled in triumph.

"That makes four, Lester" The Seraphim said cooly. "There are more."

"More?!" The preacher demanded. "Where?! Where are there more?"

"Two of them just freed Commissioner Gordon a little over an hour ago. Do not let your guard down. They could still be headed down there."

"Y… Yes sir," the preacher said bitterly, hanging up and still gnashing his teeth. "As if we have anything more to fear of them!"

As the preacher stepped out from the chapel, the bodies of Nightwing and Huntress slowly appeared out from the area where stained glass met wall, glaring at the hallway opposite them.

"Oracle, this is gonna be a problem," Nightwing muttered. "You sure you can't send us any backup?"

"Sorry, my dad's already doing everything he can to try and keep services from happening. Steph's leg would probably be ruined. Cassie's still in intensive care… They usually start at eleven, right? Three hours… This is bad. You guys have to kill this operation. As fast as possible."

"We'll figure something out then," Nightwing replied. "Whatever it takes."

…

"I don't mean to pry, but any particular reason _why_ you had me break you out of the clinic where you were clearly getting the help you need?"

"I can not explain now, Sadie," Cassandra said, her eyes remaining firmly on the road ahead of them. "I have something I have to do. I am sorry I can not say more."

"Well, hey, need I remind you that whole, 'Saving my butt' thing goes pretty far?" Sadie asked. "I'm just impressed you actually managed to slip out of there like you did. I been in and out of a few doghouses myself, but never out of a hospital."

The two remained silent for another few miles through the city before Cassandra, trying to break the silence, asked, "Why do you wear those?"

"Hm?"

"That… Those. Necklaces?"

"Oh. My tags," Sadie said, raising them a little to give her a better look. "They were a gift. My brother was a soldier, these were from him."

"Oh," Cassandra said with a little nod.

"Yeah. This one has his name on it. Or the name I called him at least. He name was Will, but I called him Salty."

"Why?"

"Kind of a long story… See, my mom used to be married to his dad, so his last name was Saltinstole. But I was always around him when I was going up, so I called him Salty when I was little… Guess it wasn't that long, but still." The two were quiet again for a few minutes as Sadie at last escaped the city limits. "He was one of my best friends… I could tell Salty anything. Things that our mom hated it when I'd say even… Salty would tell me I should quit beating myself up so much. I was never a real military brat, but I always liked it when he'd call me a 'good soldier'."

"What happened to him?" Cassandra asked. "Did he go over again?"

Sadie didn't respond immediately, her eyes glued to road and Cassandra left to wonder what she was thinking before she quietly replied, "War does terrible things to the people you love… And sometimes you feel like you're dying every day before it finally comes to an end."

After a moment of thought, Cassandra sadly understood. "I am so sorry… He is with God now."

"You think?" Sadie asked. "Not exactly the reaction I'm used to hearing."

"God looks after us. All of us. Even… Especially when we are in pain. I know he must be feeling better now."

After another few miles of driving, Sadie parked the car just outside the gate leading into Wayne Manor.

"You know, Cass, I've never really thought about God all that much," Sadie said with a sigh. "All I know is he works for some people and doesn't seem to for others. Like we've done something wrong or something."

"I did not even know until a few months ago," Cassandra said, laying a hand on her friend's shoulder. "But I believe God was always there. Even if I did not know it. I believe God made me who I am, even before I ever prayed."

"You think God looks out for all of us?" Sadie asked. "Even the ones who have never said a word to the guy? Those of us who maybe don't even think he exists?"

"Like a good parent. Always loving. Never giving up on you."

Sadie was again silenced by this until she leaned across the divider of the two seats and the two shared a hug. "World needs more of your God, Cassie," She said. "And world needs more of you… Good luck with whatever you came to do."

"Thank you." Cassandra said, releasing her grip and stepping out, watching as Sadie drove off into the distance. With a sigh she turned towards the manor, scanning her handprint at the gate and running up the drive as they swung open.

Rushing through the foyer, Cassandra gave little mind to Alfred's calls questioning who was there. She proceeded directly to the old grandfather clock, set it and rushed down into the Batcave as it slid aside.

She wasn't planning anything special for this. Any of her old uniforms that hadn't been too badly damaged would surely work just fine. But when she arrived in the cave, she found her mannequin empty, no uniform in sight. Frustrated, she turned quickly to the batcomputer.

Cassandra didn't know how to do much with it, but thankfully most of it was controlled by clicking on icons rather than specific, typed information. Clicking on the icon of the batsuits, a line of them quickly appeared on screen, but before she could select her own a message came up.

"C/MerChris Suit Complete. View now?"

Cassandra couldn't make out the words on the screen, but reluctantly she clicked, "Yes", unsure of what else to do. As she did she could hear a number of machines spring to life under her feet, the naked mannequin that should have held her costume disappearing into the ground and another of the figures taking its place, her mouth dropping in surprise.

The undermost layer the mannequin wore was entirely black, made from a lightweight but sturdy armor from neck to ankles. However, much of the black armor was covered, from elbows to wrist, waist to knee, feet and chest by a second layer of significantly sturdier white armor, a small splash line of periwinkle around the neck and a Bat-symbol, golden colored and patterned after stained glass in the center, a cross embroidered in the middle. The suit bore a note Cassandra could only understand the most important parts of.

_Cassandra,_

_ Tried to work around your design. This is a touch more practical. Merry Christmas._

_ Love,_

_ Bruce._

Without a second thought Cassandra pulled the uniform on, first the bottom layer of black and then the upper layers of white. Although the white was certainly heavier and more reinforced, the fact that she wasn't wearing it all over allowed her to retain most of her flexibility, and her most easily-seen areas were now also her most durable. Bruce was right, he had gone for practicality. Moments after clearing the mannequin of the outfit, it too sunk into the ground and a new utility belt, along with an assortment of batarangs, grapples and smoke bombs took its place. Most surprising, however, was what appeared to be a steel katana sitting next to them, not unlike many of the swords she'd wielded in the past. Handling it carefully, she found the weight about right, though the blade and point were both dulled. Still potentially deadly, if the wielder wished it to be, but not so in the hands of someone as experienced as Cassie. With a smile and a nod, she strapped the belt to her waist and the blade to her back.

Looking towards the Redbird that Tim had forgone for the night, Cassandra hoped she remembered how to drive, it had been some time since she'd been behind the wheel. Knowing Alfred would be catching up with her in a few minutes, she grabbed Tim's spare set of keys off Bruce's workbench, along with a domino mask to slide on as she drove out.

However, something was still stopping her. And she already knew exactly what it was, as she turned once more to the batcomputer and clicked on the camera tool, instantly getting a good look at her reflection. She smiled. The new suit was even better than the previous one, but the grin was lost shortly thereafter as she clicked on the red circle and the computer began to record.

"I am sorry I did not tell you everything," Cassandra said, looking right at the screen. "I am sorry… There is one more thing to do, and I must do it. No one else will… I will be alright. God is with me."

She was quiet for a few beats thereafter before saying, "But to be sure… Because God's will, not mine be done… Thank you. Thank you all. For everything. Alfred, Barbara, Dick, Tim, you were all my family. Stephanie, you will always be my best friend. Bruce…" She stopped, wiping a tear from her eye as she changed her mind. "No. Dad. Thank you. Thank you all. For loving me… I hope I see you all tomorrow… Merry Christmas."

She was unable to do more and swifly killed the video before heading for the Redbird. Every moment of the last months had built up to this. How it would end, she did not know, but that the end had come, she knew for sure.


	43. Chapter 39

"Miss Gordon? I'm terribly sorry to call at the moment, I'm sure you're quite stressed enough-"

"You got that right A… Sorry. My dad's in the room," Barbara said, minimizing a few windows to concentrate on the call.

"Ah. Can I speak freely or…?" Alfred asked.

"I've got you on my headset… Not much I can do right now anyway, just about everyone's dropped off my radar. What's going on?"

"Someone just slipped into the manor. I heard the door being opened but couldn't catch up with them in time… I just looked over the security footage. It was Cassandra."

"What?" Barbara demanded. "What's she doing there? How did she even _get_ there?"

"I do not know Miss Gordon, but there's more. She took a uniform. A _mostly_ finished uniform."

"What do you mean 'mostly finished'?" Barbara asked.

"Master Wayne had been putting it together for the last few weeks, but he hadn't installed any tracking software in it yet. Wherever she is, she's off the grid. She also commandeered Tim's motorcycle."

"Couldn't we track that then?" Barbara asked, growing increasingly desperate. "It has the hardware, doesn't it?"

"It was damaged a week ago. I tried to track it but the system just leads me to Master Wayne's workbench."

"Unbelievable," Barbara said under her breath.

"And what's more she left a video. She said there was something left that she has to do… And that she _hopes_ to see us tomorrow."

"I can't take this," Barbara said, his voice beginning to tremble in anger and sadness. "Someone has to know where she is. I'm calling Spoiler. Thank you A."

"Whatever it takes," Alfred said sadly, hanging up the phone.

"That didn't sound good," Gordon said, stepping closer to Barbara and her computer.

"It's not," Barbara said, glaring at the screen. "Someone, one of our best, is out there. She's not supposed to be, she was just coming back from a terrible injury." Punching the cell phone number into her computer, Barbara waited impatiently for a few rings.

"Mmm… Hello?" A groggy Stephanie answered.

"Spoiler? Are you just waking up?"

"Yeah, I've only been in and out of that hospital constantly ever since we got Cass back," Stephanie said with a yawn. "It's winter break and I haven't had one good night of sleep yet. Why? And why'd you call me Spoiler?"

"The commissioner is in here with me," Barbara replied. "Listen, did Batgirl tell you anything about anything she was planning to do?"

"Huh? I mean, no. Just that she wanted to keep doing the Angel thing if she could figure out how to do it safely. Why?"

"Because she slipped out of the clinic and stole a batsuit."

"What?!" Stephanie yelled, suddenly perking up. "That's… That's stupid! You gotta be kidding me, she can't do that! She's worse off than I was, and I need surgery!"

"So you really don't know where she is?" Barbara asked.

"No idea. She didn't say a word about slipping out to me… Holy crap, what is wrong with that girl? Babs you gotta find her!"

"We will. We won't let her be lost tonight too," Barbara said firmly. "Whatever we have to do, we'll bring her back home."

…

Nightwing and Huntress made their way through the empty chapel, conversing on the situation that had presented itself to them.

"We should have intervened," Huntress kept saying. "We had the element of surprise, we could have helped even the odds."

"I don't think it would have made much difference," Nightwing replied. "Canary's scream forced them all into an insane frenzy. You'd think it would have knocked them out, I mean, look at the window." He pointed to the panels of stained glass along the wall, all shockingly still together but cracked all over. "I don't know how, but whatever it was we're better off like this. Now we have all the more surprise on our side. The question is how do we proceed…"

Pushing the gigantic doors of the chapel open ever so slightly, Nightwing could look out into the hallway. Two rooms were evident to him, both heavily guarded by Cherubim and gun-wielding men. There was no strong indication of which of their companions were kept within either. "We can't slip out through there," he continued, shutting the door and returning to the chapel. "We're outgunned… I dunno Hel, you have any ideas? You've been to church more than I have."

Huntress leaned back against the door and let out a sigh. "You know, for all Batman said they hate Catholics, this kinda looks like the churches I used to go to… I dunno. When I was a little kid, I always wondered if something was hidden underneath the podium or the altar. I mean, we're underneath Gotham already, nothing says we can't dig deeper."

"Worth a shot." Nightwing replied, the two making their way over, first to the wooden podium which the two managed to push aside with relative ease. Huntress dropped down on one knee and ran a hand along the floor, looking for something out of place but finding nothing. With a nod, the two turned towards the altar, surely extremely heavy judging by its stone structure.

The two tried to push, pull and flip the altar, but the weight was simply too much, and by the feel of it possibly sealed into the floor. "No good. Any other thoughts?"

"I've got a feeling about this… Listen." Huntress pounded on the stone a few times, a small but notable echo coming from within. "There's a hollow part of it. Sounds like it's on this side," she said, pointing towards the stained glass and away from the rows of pews. "It's designed to look like one stone rectangle, but this part is definitely hollow."

"Alright, let's see what I can do then," Nightwing said, drawing a canister and spraying a little of the gel contained within on the outside of the stone altar. "Let's hope those doors are soundproof. Stand back."

With the flick of a switch he ignited the explosive gel and blasted the back of the alter, shattering the stone and revealing a small opening in the stone, a trapdoor and ladder contained within.

"It's still too small to climb into," Huntress pointed out. "Can you get some spray underneath the altar too?"

Nightwing managed to contort himself well enough to accomplish the feat, spraying both the bottom and the top of the altar and, with another explosion, shattering the center into a million pieces, allowing them access to the ladder. "I guess the riddle for the ages is how the hell they got down there without destroying it every time," Nightwing said as Huntress began to descend. "Let's see where it leads."

…

Four Cherubim stood guard in front of the cell Batman had been locked into, the lingering smell of near-death and the shrieks of his allies slowly grating on his mind as he tried to meditate on his situation. His belt and gloves had been removed, so as to further prevent his escape, though at what he was sure was The Seraphim's insistence, his mask remained. One man, surely there to better maintain the four Cherubim, remained by their side. Hopefully, he thought to himself, his memory and old studies would pull him through.

"Quite an endgame you have set up, isn't it?" He asked. "I figured yours of all people would be taking Christmas off."

"It's a pagan holiday," the guard sneered. "It's Satan trying to lurk his way into the modern day."

"Is that right?"

"You gonna try and convince me otherwise?" He asked. "I'm not one for sage advice coming from a guy dressed like a bat. Sit down and shut up, the boss's orders are the only thing keeping a bullet out of your head."

"I'm not exactly the only one in the room dressed up like an animal," Batman pointed out.

"That's different," he replied, paying him little mind. "Angel motifs, Bat. Bathed in light, not shrouded in darkness."

"The Bible says a lot of good things about the dark," Batman replied. "God's chosen people were desert dwellers. The darkness of night was a blessing to them."

His verbal opponent paused on this briefly before shrugging, turning his back and saying, "Shut up."

"Do you happen to know where the title 'Lucifer' comes from?" Batman asked, pleased with the slow results he was getting. "It means 'The Morning Star'. It is related, very closely, to the rising of the sun."

"I said sit down and shut up!" The guard barked again.

"All I'm saying is that for such a pious man, you seem very misled. You could probably call me an atheist and I still think I know quite a bit more than you."

"I'm done with this," he replied, turning his back, but notably laying a frustrated hand on his forehead.

"Maybe you should be asking yourself who your real master is," Batman said, deciding to conclude the conversation for the time. "Is it the almighty maker of the heavens and the earth? Or is it a scared, prideful bastard trying endlessly to hide from his own destroyed sense of self? You tell me."

…

A quarter past nine, Redbird parked around the back (where there was less snow), Cassandra made her way once again into Saint Michael's cathedral. The various alternate hallways were completely black and lifeless, only from nave to alter lit. Walking in, she slid off her right glove, dipped it in the font and made a sign of the cross, proceeding to a pew in the room's center, pulling down the knee-rest and began to pray towards the crucifix.

Shortly, a battle would take place. Soon, everything would be decided. But for the moment, she was alone with her God again. Her head was bent low; fighting the desire to cry again as she silently made her requests. First for success, and second for tomorrow.

…

From above their heads Nightwing and Huntress could hear cries of agony. Robin, Canary and Blackhawk beginning to scream words incomprehensible from the room situated over their heads. Thankfully for the two, an answer seemed apparent.

"You hear all that fizzing?" Nightwing asked, making his way to a line of large metallic containers situated against the wall, pipes attached to the top of them. "Whatever's wrecking Tim and the others up there… I think that preacher called it 'Mist' or something, it's clearly coming from down here and being pumped into the room. "We destroy those canisters and we probably can stop the influx."

"But if it's already doing that to them, we clearly can't just try and destroy it," Huntress said. Scanning the room further, she referred him to five filtering masks positioned along the wall. "Grab those. It's… Almost enough. Someone's going to have to go without."

"We gotta make due with what we've got," Nightwing replied, pulling one of the masks on and handing the other to his companion. "Alright, let's blow this stuff away."

Again drawing his canister of explosive gel, Nightwing made his way to each of the seven metal barrels of Mist, giving each a heavy coat before again stepping backwards and flipped the switch. In a line of eruptions, the cannisters were all violently destroyed, spilling their contents all over the ground and splashing onto Nightwing and Huntress as they exchanged approving nods through the gas masks.

Within moments the hissing ceased and the cries from above seemed to quiet ever so slightly. But with them came the preacher's demand of, "What the hell just happened?!"

"Time to get out of here," Huntress said. And with that the two made a run back towards the ladder, determined to beat the preacher and the rest of The Seraphim's entourage there. Just as Nightwing reached the ladder however, the effort proved in vain.

One of the Cherubim, a Man jumped down the trapdoor, his boots crashing into Nightwing's face and knocking him to the bottom of the chamber. As he pushed himself to his feet, Huntress a few steps behind him, another, this one a lion of them and three men in black made their way to the passage.

"Well well well," One of them sneered. "I guess the boss was right. I guess there were two more-" his victory speech was quickly quieted as a look of horror began to come across his face. "That smell… Oh no… Oh God no!" And his hands instantly rushed to his face as he and his companions were soon gnashing their teeth, fighting the vile stench of the Mist filling the passageway.

Huntress tried to make a run past them in the momentary diversion but The Man grabbed ahold of her ankle and slammed her into the ground. The two were quick to get back on their feet, Nightwing drawing his escrima sticks as Huntress went for her crossbow and engaged their foes.

In spite of bolts fired and bashes with the sticks, the overwhelming power and resilience of the Cherubim and the growing insanity of the three quickly overcame them. As Nightwing tried to grab and rip at the Cherubim's masks, their allies got him from behind and sent him careening into the wall, the silent Man repeating their act until his forehead was a bloody mess. The crossbow, while surely breaking bones after its first few shots and surely shattering one of the men's knees, still could not overcome the increasingly inane servants' resolve to defeat her.

The two exchanged many blows and fought desperately, but this was a fight they could not win.

…

"Excuse me? Miss? Can I help you in any way?"

Cassandra was not surprised to hear his voice. She knew it would come eventually. Opening her eyes and adding a last sign of the cross to her latest prayer, she turned towards Monsignor Ryan, Snowball tucked under one of his arms.

"My goodness," he said, slightly taken aback. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to having anyone in costume inside."

"It is alright," she said, pushing to her feet. "Do you remember me?"

The Monsignor gave her a confused look for a moment before he asked, "Batgirl?"

"Yes," she said. "I was. I told you, I became interested in your church… I call myself Angel of the Bat now."

"Well I'll be," Ryan said, looking her over, dumbfounded. "Well… Well a merry Christmas to you then. I haven't forgotten what you did for me."

"I am glad," Cassandra replied. "But I did not come to celebrate."

"Well what's going on then?" Ryan asked, still confused. "And why did you come in costume?"

"I came because something terrible will happen," Cassandra said. "That man. The Seraphim. You have heard?"

"Yes of course," Ryan said. "He's all over the news."

"He is planning an attack. Tonight. All across Gotham," she said. "He wants to destroy every church. Kill every worshipper. All at once, make it look like God's will."

Monsignor Ryan was, understandably, shaken by this. "You… You can't be serious! This church as stood for over a century, and he means to destroy it tonight?"

"He is coming. Do it himself," Cassandra said, almost pleading with him. "We can not let that happen. You must warn everyone!"

"But… But I-"

"You won't be getting the chance."

Both sets of eyes turned immediately towards the threshold, but neither reached it before the roar of a gunshot echoed through the chapel, the bullet passing through Monsignor Ryan's left knee as he roared in agony, Snowball quickly recovering and barking at his fallen master.

The Angel of the Bat turned towards the man standing at the entrance to the nave, arriving as she knew he would. With his sword at his back and the gun in his hand, The Seraphim at last returned to the threatening level he had maintained back in Arkham.

"I can hardly believe you're still alive," he said bitterly, pointing his pistol at Angel. "I can hardly believe I've allowed you to live this long. You've caused far too much damage for one lifetime."

Angel looked back and forth between The Seraphim and Monsignor Ryan, unsure where she needed to direct her attention first and horrified by his action against the priest. In moments, that horror turned to anger as she drew her katana, hoping he would accept the challenge and draw his own sword. When she sensed he would not, Angel jumped behind the pew and began rolling across the ground towards him, another five rounds of deafening gunfire filling the church before she got to her feet, mere feet from her reloading opponent and knocked the gun from his hand with a quick swipe of her blade. Something in The Seraphim's smile told her he was vaguely impressed by this.

"… Very well. We'll do it your way." He said, and with a jump backwards, he drew his sword. Angel quickly began swinging to try and force the sword out of his hands, but he refused to surrender his grip, parrying every slash with ease but notably making no attempt to return any of her strikes. At least not until he managed a brief retreat and had the chance to trigger the valves running along his blade.

With a brief opening of his palm, The Seraphim again ignited the blade, now raising the burning metal towards Angel in jest. "Just needed a moment, that's all."

And with that he rushed at her, their blades meeting in the space between the pews as they began to lock and clash over and over. Merely being within a few feet of the scorching blade caused Angel to sweat, and she had to wonder if her own sword could withstand the clashes with his. Still, though they met many times, the blade did not seem to weaken at all.

She also quickly noticed how specific he kept his slashes, nearly all of them horizontal, probably to keep from damaging the pews. If he wanted as full of a house as he could get at mass that night, he would not risk giving parishioners any reason to believe something was wrong with the church. Despite this, she now noticed that he was no longer trying to spare her life. She was sure she could feel her fringed hairs being singed with one of his swings.

Still, the fight was going far better than their previous confrontation. Without the burden of her confession and the subsequent confusion, Angel was able to match The Seraphim blow for blow.

"And I complimented you last time," he remarked. "And yet now you carry the scars of what I did to you… It will be a shame to kill one so gifted."

"You won't." Angel assured him.

In spite of their battle, Angel knew she still had to attend to Monsignor Ryan. She had only so much time to spend on The Seraphim right now… But could she bring him down? He had accepted Shiva's heart-stopping maneuver as if it was nothing. What strange powers did this madman truly possess?

In amidst yet another lock of the swords, Angel made her decision. In an emulation of their last battle, she drew a batarang and thrust it into The Seraphim's bulletproof vest. She managed to carve a little down the middle before his wild slashing forced her to retreat, noting the damage she had managed to do. Angel drew another batarang and resumed the clash, meeting two more slashes from The Seraphim's blade with her own before again digging into his vest and nearly reaching his heart. If it had failed once, perhaps it was only because she wasn't trying hard enough.

This time, however, The Seraphim quickly retaliated, and for the first time Angel felt the bite of his horrible blade in her upper left arm. The flaming sword managed to cut through both layers of her armor, the white thankfully absorbing a chunk of the impact, but the burning sword still managed to cut through and slash her, slicing open a bloody wound while painfully cauterizing it at the same time. Instantly Angel's face twisted in agony as she jumped backwards, trying to make some distance as she struggled to feel anything running through her body but the sudden burn of the slash.

"You're quick. You're strong. But no one can feel the burn very long," The Seraphim taunted, raising the sword above his head and running at her, roaring a battle cry as he did.

The moment added another layer to Angel's plan, but she knew survival needed to be her first priority. She dodged the vertical slash but was torn through with another horizontal one, this one tearing and then cauterizing through the front of her lower abdomen. Again Angel was clenching, trying to fight the pain and maintain her focus. It was only because of her years of training in combat that she could keep up with him to begin with. She had been stabbed and shot many times in her life, but the way the sword slashed and then felt as if it melted her flesh back together was something new and truly excruciating. She knew she could only take so many cuts of the sort. If this strategy did not work, Angel knew she would have to cut his line of fuel. But one plan at a time.

When the sword came down for another overhead slash, Angel jumped at the Seraphim, using all of her body weight to knock him into the pews and force his hands from his sword. With the moments she managed to sit atop him, Angel drew a third batarang and finished slashing down the center of the vest, revealing The Seraphim's heart and the scar surrounding it. The Seraphim only needed his large hands around her neck for a moment to throw her off of him and into the pews across the aisle, bitterly rising and again grabbing ahold of his sword.

"You didn't learn your lesson from last time?" He demanded. "I told you before, my heart is guarded from evil!"

Gripping her own sword, Angel met a glare she was sure was present behind the wings obscuring his eyes before she made a run towards the front of the church and the altar. "That's right!" He yelled. "Run! Just don't get too confident, there's nowhere on earth you can hide from a _real_ angel!"

She stopped briefly to help Monsignor Ryan into one of the pews, handing him Snowball and promising, "It is almost over. Then I will save you again." With that she ran to the front of the aisle, turning to face The Seraphim as he rushed at her again, the sword again raised over his head.

Cassandra had encountered many concepts over the course of many battles. Most applicable to this situation, however, was the way in which two bodies met upon collision. A force hitting another when it is moving in the same direction is minimalistic. Hitting something sitting totally still could do some damage, but only so much.

The most powerful way to do the most damage was to strike something coming right at you.

Angel and The Seraphim both rushed at one another in the center of the aisle, but mere moments before meeting in the middle, Angel tossed aside her katana and opened her hand. As soon as the two finally met, she thrust her palm into The Seraphim's chest with all the strength she could possibly put behind it.

There was a moment in which everything seemed to stop. The mad occultist shook a little, as if his body was unsure how to comprehend what had just happened before he relinquished his grip on his burning sword, which came falling to the stone floor with a _clank_. He stood totally still and stiff for a few seconds before falling onto his back.

Angel had a few seconds to catch her breath before she looked at her opponent and noticed he was not doing the same. His chest did not appear to be moving at all as he laid there, seemingly lifeless. Instantly dread washed over Angel's being.

"Oh no… Oh please God no!" She begged. "Not this. I did not want this!"

Desperately she pressed an ear to The Seraphim's mouth. She was sure she couldn't hear any breathing, but wondered if his mask and helmet were simply getting in the way. Desperately she tore the two away, first the helmet and its wings that covered his eyes. Then she grabbed ahold of his skintight mask and pulled it up and over his head, briefly grimacing in disgust when she saw his face at last revealed.

It was all there, as the multiple accounts had described it. The top half of his face was pale, scarred and the skin was far too tight, clearly evident of the time Joshua had mentioned he had burned half of his head. This also quickly led to an understanding of the complete lack of hair upon his scalp, all of which was covered in the remnants of the burns.

With his cheeks totally visible, Angel could see the place Joker had violently cut a cross-shaped scar into his face, only rendering him more grotesque. There were a few noteworthy scars around his nose as well, and it appeared cut as if he had been trying to reduce its size.

Trying to put his heinous visage out of her mind, Angel pressed her ear to his mouth again, but once more there came no breath. Tears were welling up in her eyes. Could she have possibly come so far only to fail at the creed she had clung to the longest? Had she failed to bring The Seraphim to justice? Had she failed to live up to 'Thou shall not kill'?

She then pushed herself downward and put her ear to The Seraphim's heart. What followed caused the pit in her stomach to begin to churn.

His heart was still beating. Just fine. Nothing sounded wrong with it at all, except that it was moving quickly form the fight.

Angel double took. How was that possible? Had she struck a lung by accident? Was she just hearing what she wanted to hear? Could it be she-

Angel was given no further time to ponder his as a hand forced itself around her neck. She instantly began to gag and pull at it as The Seraphim slowly rose from his seemingly unconscious state, his deep, black-colored eyes giving her a horrid glare.

"No one looks upon the face of a seraphim and lives," he said sternly.

"What… How…?" Cassandra said, struggling as best she could against the hand clasped around her neck.

"Blackfire's doing," The Seraphim replied. "You're hardly the first one to try, little girl." As he spoke, he raised his pistol again, but to Angel's shock, pressed it against his own temple. "Let me show you."

"Wait- NO-"

The Seraphim pulled the trigger, splashing the already horrified Angel in a spray of viscera as the bullet tore through his head. But to her continued terror, The Seraphim didn't even seem to flinch as he glared at her again, blood and broken flesh covering his already destroyed face as he now turned the gun on her.

"Like the bastard before me, I am trapped here," The Seraphim said. "Shot. Stabbed. Burned. Choked. Impaled through my heart. Saint Peter has locked me out of heaven, and there's only one way I can open the gate. The evisceration of you, and the rest of your God forsaken church."


	44. Chapter 40

The Seraphim took a swing at Angel with the pistol, knocking her onto her back and breaking the skin, her forehead slowly oozing with blood. From the floor she looked up at him, her eyes, and soon after her voice demanding "Why?"

With his face at last revealed, there was something unquestionably wrong with his expression. The face that gave the smile at the sight of murder now yielded eyes that appeared horribly troubled. With no more mask to hide behind, his was a very dour frown.

"I should have been killed for the first time when I was a child." The Seraphim stated. "After the first time Blackfire dug the blade into my jugular. He called it blood-letting, and that with it I would become what I had to in order to complete God's plan for me. He spilled my blood all over the floor and began to paint shades and runes with it. By the time he was finished I couldn't move a muscle. My heart had stopped beating. I was no longer drawiing in breath. But I was still alive."

"Blackfire then told me I would not be allowed death until I had fulfilled my purpose. I had an obligation to God that had to be fulfilled. Only once I completed my duty would I be allowed into The Kingdom."

The Seraphim paused, a vile tension taking hold through the church as he began to laugh in a growing madness. "You have no idea what it does to you… Screaming and praying for a demise that never comes!"

Cassandra did not break her stare, having difficulty accepting his words. She known of immortal foes before. Her father had served under Ra's Al Ghul, Batman had described encounters with the great Vandal Savage, even Blackfire had been mentioned as possibly being deathless. But this man, who dressed as a monstrous angel and sought the destruction of every religion but his own?

"The old deacon made it all perfectly clear. I would never escape from this horrid place until I had fulfilled by purpose. Gotham needed to be razed, destroyed like the cities of old… It wasn't right! I never asked for this!" He had suddenly found himself yelling, and bitterly smashed a fist into the pew on his right. For a few moments he was silent, as if contemplating his own words before remarking, now more calm and composed, "But it must be my place… In my veins flows the blood of the angels."

"You know that isn't true-"

"IT'S TRUE BECAUSE I SAID IT IS!" The Seraphim erupted. "It's true because I said it and they believe it! It's true because the Voice of God says that it's true!" Again The Seraphim stopped briefly to compose himself, concluding with, "His will, not mine be done."

A low and raspy laugh came from behind The Seraphim, he and Angel turning to the embittered Monsignor Ryan, glaring in his direction. "Just following orders, were you? Just doing what you thought God wanted. God gave you a brain, didn't he? Weren't you given the ability to think for yourself?"

"And I suppose you think it's different than the crusades," The Seraphim retorted. "Or imprisoning Galileo. Or _any_ of the instances of child abuse and molestation."

"No. It's not any different," Monsignor Ryan replied. "Even the holiest of men have defied the grand plan at some point or another. We are all tempted to do evil… You have just convinced yourself that temptation is God himself."

"You're an old fool," The Seraphim maintained, turning to face him. "God is not soft. God is not swayed. God demanded my ancestor Abraham tie down his son and sacrifice him!"

"And then he sent a ram to take his place," Ryan continued. "God isn't seeking slaughter and sacrifice and pride. You've confused him with Satan."

The Seraphim just chuckled at this point, walking over to his helmet and shaking his head. "I'd silence you for good, Father, but I have use for you yet. But in the meantime..."

The Seraphim reached into his helmet, pulling a headset with a microphone attached, sliding it on and pressing a switch on his left ear. "Lester, what is your position?" And as he said it, he reached under the belt on his right hip, tossing a similar pair of headphones over to Angel. "Put them on. I want you to hear this."

Angel gave him a look before she pulled them on. Instantly she could hear shouting, and despite the distance, she realized they came from her allies. "No…" She said quietly.

"The trigger is in the palm of my hand, my lord," the preacher told him. "The Batman and his dear allies are awaiting their execution by firing squad. We are awaiting your orders."

"Good… Have you an extra set of headphones?"

"Yes sire. Do you have a command?"

"Put it to the Batman's ear… When I give the order you are to kill the rest, but the Bat lives. He is mine."

"_No!_" Angel yelled in defiance, but as she rose to strike him The Seraphim swiftly took aim with him gun and fired a round into the center of her symbol, knocking her back to the ground instantly, surely about to spurt blood at any moment.

The Seraphim briefly took his hand from the earpiece, remarking, "You can't ruin this now… If I don't die with this church… Batman's the last chance I've got. If he could find a way to kill Blackfire, he'll find a way to kill me."

"It is done, sir." The preacher said. "Only God can save you now," he added with a taunt towards Batman.

"Good… I shall assume you can hear me now then, Batman." The roar of rage audible in both The Seraphim and Cassandra's headset confirmed this claim. "Excellent. I thought you deserved to know your Angel practically came crawling back to try and finish things with me. She's here, about to fade into the darkness from the bullet I just put in her heart." This cry was even more thunderous than the last, though still no words could be clearly made out. "I hope you're ready for what comes next. I hope you have said everything you desire to to your allies, because my plans of converting them have just been disposed of. They are not worthy of my salvation. They are not-"

Angel had managed to make the best of the situation. Her uniform, as it had been suggested back in the cave, was particularly padded in the areas colored white and her bright yellow symbol even more so. Even at the close range, the armor had cushioned nearly all of the impact, and she had subsequently chosen to feign a more grievous injury. The Seraphim could, at any moment, yell for the execution of her friends and family, but he had proven all too well how much he loved to stand on formality. He would gloat for as long as he felt he could, and as long as he didn't consider her a threat, Angel would be safe. Not to mention the noise from the headset effectively distracted him as she slowly and gently drew a batarang.

The rest would depend on this weapon. If she used them just right, she could turn the tides of her battle. If she used them just right, she could save Bruce and the others.

Judging the moment to perfection, Cassandra pushed up to a half-sitting position and threw her first batarang, the tool soaring straight and high, slashing through and severing The Seraphim's mircrophone and re-opening the cross-shaped scar on his cheek. The villain was momentarily thrown by this, his monologue interrupted mid-sentence as he looked at Angel, stunned his bullet had done so little to stop her. His eyes turned towards his ruined microphone as he stood shaking for a moment before screaming, "God damn it!"

Still sufficiently distracted, Angel made a run at him with another batarang in her hand, jumped and bounced off one of the pews and made a lunge for the canister of fuel strapped to The Seraphim's back, positioned between his wings. Using the batarang like a knife, she severed the multiple fuel lines leading out from the tank before thrusting the blade itself into the center. The material was surprisingly light and flexible, allowing for an easy dig.

The Seraphim made a set towards his still-flaming sword, but as the fuel began to drip out the fire was instantly fed. As he was slowly being covered in the stuff, he backed away, a fear growing in his eyes.

Angel ran towards Monsignor Ryan, Snowball and her sword, strapping the last to her back as she tried to support the old priest and his dog but barely dodging another bullet from The Seraphim for her trouble. "Damn it Lester, KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALREADY!"

But it was clear from the uncomfortable silence Angel could hear over the headset that Lester couldn't hear a thing. "Sire? Um… Sire…? We're… We're awaiting your orders…"

"… I think Elijah had an experience like this," Angel could hear Batman taunting in the background. "Maybe your god is asleep. Maybe you should yell louder."

Angel pulled Monsignor Ryan to the underside of the pew, promising him, "I will save you. Save us both. But I need to do one thing first."

Under ordinary circumstances, Cassandra would never attempt what she was about to do. It was far too dangerous, there were too many risk factors. She could not count on her opponent to survive. But The Seraphim had proven he was no ordinary opponent. As he fired a few more rounds and was forced to reload, Angel sprung up from their hiding place and ran towards the rack of candles before the wall-mounted statue of the Virgin Mary, cradling the infant Jesus. Grabbing a few of the votives, she flung them at The Seraphim, and before he could even form a face of horror at the implications, set his whole body aflame.

The Seraphim was screaming, trying desperately to beat out the flames as Angel returned to Monsignor Ryan, Snowball clutched under his arm. She pulled one of his arms over her shoulder, taking the dog from his hand and holding it close as they made a run towards a passageway in the right side of the church until they could shut and lock themselves in Monsignor Ryan's office, giving them both a brief moment to catch their breaths.

The situation with Lester, Batman and the rest was quickly dissolving into madness as The Seraphim's servants began to question where his orders were. Why they hadn't killed them yet.

"It didn't work… He's gone! The boss is gone! Why the hell is he gone?!"  
"Quiet down over there!" Lester ordered. "We still don't know-"

"_We_ know your boss is a psychopath!" Angel could hear Robin yell. "And it looks like God's finally shut him up!"

"Silence! All of you… Hoskins? Hoskins what the hell are you-"

"It's not worth it! Lucifer's a sun demon, Lester! God favors the darkness… We were wrong! I can't do it anymore!"

"No- NO-"

Judging by the sudden outburst of fist against flesh, whatever bondage Angel's allies had been contained within was broken. All hell was breaking loose inside that underground chapel.

"Good lord… Such madness," Monsignor Ryan said, still fighting the pain from the bullet wound as best he could. "But this door will hardly last… He'll break it down!"

"But he needs you alive," Angel pointed out. "He only wants to kill me… There must be something we can do…"

She thought back, between the last few months and the last few moments as The Seraphim screamed in pain and anger. The first meeting with Monsignor Ryan, the earliest battles with The Cherubim, her capture and the images she remembered most, the stories she was told while she was gone, anything that might help her.

If Stephanie could lure Red Hood into a trap by appealing to his ego, maybe she could do the same.

If The Seraphim could not be defeated by normal measures, his immortality would allow for extreme ones to be taken.

It didn't matter if The Seraphim's claims were true and if his plan would work. His cult believed they would work.

Only God can save you now.

It all came to her at once. It was risky. A lot could go wrong. She could still fail.

But if it worked, she could save everyone. Her family. The citizens of Gotham. Maybe even herself. She couldn't think of another strategy where all three seemed possible.

"Monsignor… Do you have your phone?"

"Huh? Yes, I do," Monsignor Ryan said, looking towards his desk, grabbing the device and handing it to her. "Why? What on earth do you need it for?"

"There is one person left," Angel said, sliding the headphones onto her neck. "I have a plan. If it works, we will end The Seraphim. Forever." Monsignor Ryan gave her a look of confusion before giving her a slow, though still muddled nod of approval. "Stay here. Leave it to me."

"Please," Monsignor Ryan replied. "Let me help… Let me do something."

Angel turned to the door and glared out through the window. "Pray for me," Angel requested. "Pray this works."

And with that she opened the door and rushed out, shutting it behind her and glaring at The Seraphim as he managed to kill the last of the flames. His skin and wings were now horribly burned, now far more resembling a demon than an angel.

"That's the last mistake you get to make," The Seraphim snarled.

"You can not win" Angel assured him. "It is not God's will."

She knew this would enrage him further, and without another thought he began to run towards her. Cassandra, smaller but still faster, retreated towards the church's entrance, throwing open the door ascribed with the words, "Bell Tower" and began to ascend the wide staircase. Her mind turned to hope and prayer as she punched a number into the cellphone, hoping she remembered just what she needed. After a few rings, a tired Stephanie answered, "Hello?"

"Stephanie? Good."

"What the- Cassie?!" She demanded. "Babs just called me an hour ago asking about you! Where the hell are you-"

"No time," Angel replied, checking the clock and finding the time to be just before ten. "The Seraphim's bombs go in an hour. I need your help."

"My help?" Stephanie asked, still shocked. "You know I've got a bad leg. I could fight with Hood, but that was the extent of it, I really don't think-"

"You do not need to fight," Angel said, continuing to rush up the stairs. "You just need to be in costume and go somewhere."

"What's that going to accomplish?"

"If you do it, and what I say, we can save everyone." Angel said. "Batman. Nightwing. Tim. They all need you. I know how you can save them."

"… What did you have in mind…?"

"Be Spoiler and go to their base. Barbara will tell you where."

"Great, I'm rushing into danger _and_ I gotta steal my mom's car… What's the catch? How is me going there and not fighting anyone going to stop him from taking out all those churches?"

"Do as I say," Angel began. "We will do it his way. And we will win."


	45. Chapter 41

The Seraphim's eyes slowly scanned the bell tower, looking for any sign of his opponent, finding the room empty. Nothing clearly notable as he made his way around the giant bell situated in the center, a few old, worn mallets at its side. "Come on out!" He shouted, throwing a fist into the instrument and producing a light _ring_. "Face me now and I'll end it quickly. It's far better than you've given me." As he looked to the other side of the bell, he noticed a ladder leading to another overhead room. A small smile came across his face as he walked up to it and began climbing the ladder, reaching for the trapdoor just above his head.

As The Seraphim began to push it open, he took a kick to his face, the force enough for him to relinquish one hand on the ladder. As he looked up again, he caught sight of Angel as she jumped, both of her feet landing on his face and forcing him to release his hold, knocking him onto his back on the floor.

Angel took a few steps back, drawing her katana and standing ready to face him. The Seraphim returned to his feet, wiping the ever-more flowing blood from his nose, mouth and scar. "You really don't know when to stand down, do you?" He asked. "I'd finish this right now with a bullet in your skull, but you cooked all my ammunition with that little stunt downstairs. I guess you willingly surrendered an easy death."

"You could have a soft defeat," Angel retorted. "Give yourself up. Call all of them off… My faith means nothing if I believe you cannot be redeemed."

The vaunt of moral superiority had only been in The Seraphim's mind. Angel had been genuine. But the claim was enough to rush him to her and resume their battle.

Through the bell tower the two angels clashed, the clash of their blades ringing off the walls with each new strike and revised tactic. For Angel's part the torment that she had been forced to endure by The Seraphim's hands both slowed and sped her. The exhaustion of those days, the continued ache of the torture, were at odds with how she felt determined to punish her captor. And not only for her own sake, but for the rest who had endured what she had. And for Joshua, who, without faith in heaven or hope of reward, still traded his life for hers. The Seraphim could not die, but Cassandra swore she _would_ not die.

Neither fought with the same precision or thought that they had earlier, both in too much pain and fighting off too much exhaustion to do battle properly. The mental process was replaced with conviction as the two continued to clash. The Seraphim continued to go for overhead slashes and any move that could take advantage of his towering physique, Angel maintaining her more light-footed approach. For the moment, survival was her greatest priority. There was no obvious way to defeat the immortal she stood against, but she had to keep trying and keep experimenting.

As the blade was swung down at her, Angel managed to jump backwards and, with another step, trapped the sword beneath one of her feet. With a lunge she grabbed ahold of one of The Seraphim's arms and delivered a few well-placed strikes to his various pressure points. The Seraphim let out a pained groan and the arm did, indeed, seem to go limp. Taking it as a good sign, Angel maintained a firm grip on his wrist and flipped forward, cracking and then breaking his arm backwards. When The Seraphim let out a roar of pain, she was sure she was finally making progress, but he didn't allow her to relish the moment, turning around and kicking her in the face, knocking her several feet back.

When the room stopped spinning, Angel looked up at The Seraphim as he gripped his broken arm with his good one and sickeningly snapped it back into place. After a few shakes, it appeared fully functional again.

"Damn," Angel muttered. So his pressure points could be exploited and his bones could be broken, but he needed only a matter of seconds to recover use of them… But he also needed to snap them back into place? It seemed like a decent thing to test, but she doubted she was quick enough to break both of The Seraphim's arms quickly enough. Her eyes and thoughts then turned to the room above the bell tower. Perhaps she could put it to her advantage. As The Seraphim ran at her again, she quickly dodged his strike and again ran up the ladder on the opposite side of the room.

"You think I'm falling for that again?" The Seraphim demanded. "You'll have to try harder than that!"

Angel made it into the small, upper room, desperately trying to catch her breath as she shut and locked the trapdoor. The Seraphim was quick to respond, pounding at the door with his fists and, within a few strikes, breaking through. His hand fumbled around, searching for the lock to allow himself into the tiny room. Angel contemplated attacking the hand and forcing him away, but she knew her next attempt required him to make it through. After a little more struggle he managed to unlock the door and force his way into the room.

He was wary of the way Angel did not try and repeat her previous strategy of trying to force him down the ladder. The two took their stances and began swinging at one another again, though Angel had a clear endgame in mind. Four stained glass windows surrounded the four sides of the room, a careless slash by The Seraphim shattering one of them and thrusting the glass outside. Angel mentally nodded at this as the two locked blades. The Seraphim was apparently pleased by this as well, as he proceeded to grab ahold of Angel by the face and throwing her towards the window behind her, shattering it and allowing the falling shards to slice the back of her neck. Angel cringed and quickly tried to regain her composure. The Seraphim rushed towards her, but she managed to dodge to his side and drive a few more fingers into the pressure points of his right arm, briefly damaging his grip on the blade.

"Enough of that already!" The Seraphim shouted, struggling to swing his two-handed sword with just one. As he tried to regain his center of gravity, Angel kicked him towards the trapdoor. The sole of one of The Seraphim's feet slipped into the hole in the door he had punched, further knocking him off balance until he tripped backwards, leaning against one of the last two windows still intact. As Angel dodged to the opposite side of the room, she drew her grappling hook, fired into the ceiling and jumped towards The Seraphim, delivering a two-footed fly kick.

The kick was force enough to throw The Seraphim out the window, the shattering of glass overriding his shout of pain and fear. His body crashed into the mounting snow upon the chapel's roof, his sword flying before being impacted several yards away. On the roof he groaned in pain, Angel carefully observing him to see if she had finally done what was necessary to stop him. As she watched for his response, she brought the headphones around her neck to her ears, desperately wondering how things were in the underground chapel.

…

The ferocious melee had only intensified since she had heard it begin. The Seraphim's many loyal servants and a dozen Cherubim battled at Lester's orders. Against them remained the fractured Batman family, the Birds of Prey and a select few who had come to question The Seraphim's orders after Batman's questioning. Lester had retreated to the back of the room, swearing to set off the bombs prematurely if anyone came near him.

"Listen up, Bat," one of the reformers said, finding himself fighting at the side of his old enemy. "I… We want to help you… After what you said… But they're not making this easy… I have a gun, I could shoot em' all… But it's not your way. And it can't be God's way then."

"Anything I can work with?" Batman asked, grabbing ahold of his uneasy ally and dodging strikes from a Cherubim. "What was that that happened earlier? When Black Canary screamed and she sent you into that frenzy?"

"It's… It's that pitch," the man confirmed. "We used to hear it in the misting chamber… It brings nightmares and fantasies to life. At least it does for us."

"Makes me wonder," Batman replied, turning towards the rest of the congregation.

"You're nuts!" Robin shouted. "That's how they beat us before, and you want to give them that advantage again?!"

"I'm not doing the call again," Black Canary asserted. "Its gotten us into enough trouble tonight, Batman. Even that psycho in the preacher clothes feels affected by it. You screw with him and he could set off those bombs by accident!"

"And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" Lester mocked.

"Well we weren't exactly ready last time, were we?" Blackhawk asked over her own duel with an Ox. "And we got a few of em' on our side already… They're not gonna kill you guys without the order at least."

"I don't want to-" Huntress tried to say before being knocked to the ground by the force of a Lion. When he approached her in her downed state, she fired a bolt between his eyes and forced herself back to her feet. "Risk my life on a gamble about making these bastards more aggressive!"

"Yeah, or maybe it'll wake em' up to what's real!" One of the deserters proposed as he fought off one of his brethren. "Mist does crazy things to people!"

"It's not happening!" Black Canary insisted. "This is bad enough as is!"

Batman remained close to the defectors, fearing for their safety the most. He would not surrender the idea that he could still manipulate the cry and their mental states. He just didn't know how yet.

…

Angel did not have time to think for long on Batman's situation as she watched The Seraphim begin to twitch and jerk as he clenched his right fist. Angel grimaced as The Seraphim pushed his hand against the ground and forced himself upwards, a terrible gash in his left shoulder spilling blood into the piled snow. In spite of her disgust, Angel kept careful attention on his process.

Where his shoulder had laid there was a bloody roof decoration, which had clearly impaled him. He hadn't pushed up with both arms at once, only the one that hadn't been stabbed through. If something was obstructing the wound, Angel noted, it might not be able to immediately heal. Or possibly heal at all until the path was cleared. Sheathing her katana, Angel descended the ladder, drew two more batarangs and approached The Seraphim, determined to test the theory.

Back on his feet but separated from his blade, The Seraphim dived at Angel with his fists, an act that she managed to block quickly. With the first batarang ready, she swiftly stabbed it into his lower right forearm. With another shout, The Seraphim's fist instantly loosened as he managed to punch her in the fact with a hook from his left. Again Angel was forced to the ground, blood and bile filling her mouth as she pushed up from the snow and, without hesitation, stabbed The Seraphim in his other forearm. Almost instantly it too fell limp at his side, The Seraphim looking between his hands in disbelief before throwing a few kicks at Angel, which she managed to dodge with relative ease. For a moment, Angel allowed herself to smile. Could victory really be closer than she had dared believe?

The smile was premature, as with another lunge and kick Angel was knocked against the wooden wall of the bell tower. As her vision struggled to return to normal, she could see The Seraphim raise his arm to his mouth and gouge the batarang out with his teeth, feeling almost instantly returning to his hand. As he removed the other batarang, he held them both up for Angel to see and remarked, "Your turn."

And with that he thrust the two blades into Angel's palms, pinning her to the wall of the tower. In spite of all her effort, Angel could not stop herself from letting out a scream of pain as she was bloodily ensnared, struggling but failing to escape. With a quick motion he pulled Angel's katana from its sheath and tossed it aside, leaving it abandoned like his own blade.

With his opponent now secured, The Seraphim stepped back into the bell tower just long enough to obtain one of the large mallets used to ring the bell. "I could have just shot you. I could have cut out your throat. But now? Now I'm going to beat your face in until even your precious Batman can't recognize you anymore."

The Seraphim took his first swing, Angel managing to force her neck far enough out of the way to break into the wall of the bell tower. With a second swing Angel managed to wiggle the batarang out of one of her hands, allowing her more freedom to dodge the strike. She was about to try and free her other hand, but just as she did The Seraphim smashed into it with the mallet, a horrific crack confirming every bone in her hand had just been broken. With a cry of agony Angel fell to her knees, clenching her shattered hand in desperation, gritting her teeth harder than she ever had before.

Looking up, Angel saw The Seraphim as he raised the hammer yet again, intent on smashing in her head the same way he had her hand. Her eyes began to search back and forth, searching for some way to regain the advantage. There had to be something she could do. She couldn't die now-

In the midst of her search, she received her answer. The sound of the battle in The Church of the Voice's chapel had been mostly a dull roar until just now. But something changed. Something was worth noticing. Out from the yells and static, there came a scream. A scream that threatened to shatter the headset itself. A scream far too high-pitched for any normal human being.

…

As the battle raged on, Black Canary's conviction was finally broken, and with it came the delayed release of the Canary Call. As the call was unleashed the fundamentalists and the deserters were again ensnared and overwhelmed by the chemical flooding within their minds. Lester remained in only slightly better control as he continued shouting orders at The Cherubim.

"Don't any more of you dare defect now!" He screamed. "We've come so close to our glory. Don't let them capture your hearts! Don't let Satan have you!"

"Don't continue taking orders from this madman," Batman shouted in reply. "Do your God's will and put an end to all of this madness, once and for all!"

"Canary's call definitely makes em' more aggressive!" Robin yelled over the monstrous cries of the opposition, striking parishioners and two Cherubim, a Lion and a Hawk, with his staff any time any came close enough.

"I knew this was a terrible idea," Huntress spat, desperately throwing punches and kicks while standing back-to-back with Lady Blackhawk. "They've just gotten crazier!"

"Dunno Hel," Blackhawk said with the best half-smile she could muster. "I'll always take the strong, dumb ones over the weaker wise-guys. Why do you think me an' the old team liked fighting Nazis so much?"

Still the battle seemed no closer to seeing its completion. Every new attack thrown by the heroes that made contact thanks to the increased sloppiness of their opponents was met with increasingly enraged resistance. Nightwing at one point yelled that he'd been bitten and there was a canine stuck in his wrist. All the while Lester remained in the back of the chapel, eyeing his watch and the incoming countdown and giving a moment's notice to how the two canary calls had nearly shattered the stained glass behind him.

Twenty minutes and the sinners of Gotham would all go up in smoke.

…

As the Canary Call passed through the headset and reached her ears, time seemed to slow from Angel's perspective. The snow all around them began to appear stained with blood. The night's sky shown in a sickening maroon and all color seemed to fade from The Seraphim's body, his pupils like orbs of milk swimming in oceans of onyx.

All rational thought left Angel in that moment. Those eyes. Those horrible eyes he had kept hidden so long. Needed to never open again.

There was no plan. No greater goal to be accomplished. She just tossed one of the batarangs that had now bloodied both of them and threw it at those haunting pools. The Seraphim grabbed at the wound as the blade slashed through his eye, blinding him for a moment, again letting out a cry of pain.

Angel got to her feet and began sinking her fists into his face, but particularly his other eye, over and over again. When the eye seemed swollen over she thrust The Seraphim forward, knocking him onto his back, knelt at his chest and resumed beating upon his face.

It had felt like ages since she had cut loose like this. Punches that could break concrete were sent over and over again into the madman's face as she fought through the pain of her broken arm and the sight of red bursting through the black and white. The Seraphim fought and struggled to protect his face and return to his feet, but the sudden influx of hallucinogens running through Cassandra's brain would not allow him an inch. Blow after blow she dug in until she was sure all she could feel The Seraphim doing in response was shudder and shake. At last he struggled to get a few words out just after she sent two of his front teeth down his throat.

"No… No that's enough!" He began to beg. "P-Please! That's enough!"

"Enough?!" She demanded. "Enough for who?" With every new demand she sank another punch into his increasingly pulp-like face. "Enough for Sadie? Enough for Joshua? ENOUGH FOR ME?"

"P-p-please!" The Seraphim continued. "Not- Not what Christ wanted-"

"WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW?!" Angel screamed.

"Hold nothing against anyone… Forgive them… So God may forgive your sins…"

At this, Angel froze mid-punch, starring at The Seraphim as the world slowly returned to color and life. She slowly looked to her fist, covered now in his blood and bile, a disgust slowly overtaking her as the world came back into focus.

"Those… Those were his words… Jesus's words." Angel said quietly, looking back down at her bloodied mess of an opponent.

"Yes… Christ's words… Even you said… None of this is worth it if I cannot be redeemed."

Angel rose from her position, pulling off her mask and trying to wipe away the tears with her clean hand. For a moment, it seemed so familiar… Even if he couldn't die, she couldn't dare bring him more pain than she had to. And in her mind she was reminded of the feeling of life leaving a body. First darkness, and then nothing at all. She had sworn she had left that world behind, and that she would never return.

"Such a good girl you are… So obedient… And the old man claimed _I_ couldn't think for myself!"

Angel turned just in time to dodge The Seraphim as he again lunged at her with the hammer over his head, driving the makeshift weapon into the roof with her quick evasion and breaking through the thin layer of tile and shingles. As he continued the attack, Angel quickly became aware of how much damage he was doing to their flooring and tried to yell, "Stop!" But it was too late. By his twelfth strike of desperation against her, a chunk of the roof finally cracked and gave way beneath them, forcing them into a fall down at least five stories. Both yelled in shock at the sudden fall until their two bodies smashed into the church floor again.

Neither was any condition to fight anymore. It had only been the imminence of true death that had put either of the two in such dire straits. Both should have died. Both should have at least been defeated, but their simultaneous groans of pain confirmed that their battle was not finished yet.

"We are… Just minutes away…" The Seraphim said as the feeling slowly returned to his body. "No matter what you tried, no matter what you believe you could have done, it never would have mattered… You, me and every sinful, heathenistic fool in Gotham are about to die… God's will be done, little angel."

The unmasked, nearly defeated Cassandra looked painfully down at the floor. Was he right? Had everything she fought for been in vain? The Seraphim was still going to blow up the cathedral, Lester would still destroy every other church in the city. Countless would be dead, the one hope she had of stopping it-

_No_, she told herself. _It is not too late… It is never too late… Not for God. _And with a little of her remaining strength, Angel brought her hands together and began to silently pray.

Before she could finish a single thought like that, the nearly-destroyed headphones let out another terrible noise, this time a crash and, moments thereafter, a scream from Lester.

"Oh God… No… Please… NO!"

…

Minutes remained before Lester's finger would at last meet the trigger of the insidious weapon held in his hands. Minutes before the beginning of midnight mass, destruction looming over everything.

And as hard as the Batman Family, the Birds of Prey and the deserters fought, The Cherubim and the many ravenous servants of The Seraphim still kept them far from Lester. Hearts and morales began to sink with every passing minute as The Seraphim's plan inched towards destruction. How could he still be stopped?

"I told you all, didn't I? Only God can save you now. And he won't! Because God is ours! He is the master beyond all masters, and none could ever dream to stand against us-"

In the midst of his words, it was only Tim who double took at the appearance of a shadow just behind Lester against the stained glass. In particular, the moment the shape raised its right knee and delivered a kick to the gigantic, cracking stained glass wall, shattering it into a million pieces.

Though Tim was the only one who noticed it, every eye turned instantly at the figure who had stepped into the chaos, particularly Lester as he turned a ghostly pale and screamed, ""Oh God… No… Please… NO!"

In the few times Cassandra had managed a look into the chapel, there had always been something uncanny about the blonde Mary, garbed in royal purple. It was only when she reached the outside again that it occurred to her the figure, by pure coincidence, looked almost exactly like Stephanie.

So here she stood, garbed in her purple Spoiler uniform, forgoing her mask so her skin was clearly visible and hair could easily shape around her face. With the original mural destroyed, it was nigh impossible to realize they didn't look exactly the same, only further aggravated by the heavy amounts of Mist running through the mind of the preacher and the rest of The Seraphim's servants.

"Ma… Madonna…" Lester said in disbelief, his mouth falling open in awe and terror. "You… You fools! Get on your knees! We stand in the presence of the mother of God!"

The battle ended instantly as the many fell to their knees towards their appointed Mary, an act that that relieved some of their opponents but made others, particularly Stephanie, uncomfortable. "Madonna…? She's not even a- Ow!" Robin began before an elbow from Batman ordered him to be silent.

"Wait! Everyone please wait," Stephanie pleaded. "I'm… I'm not your Madonna. I'm not the Virgin Mary… I want you to listen to me but- but I'm not!" She had expected some kind of resistance to this, but to her surprise, none came. The chapel remained totally silent.

"… I'm not the Virgin Mary… But I was still sent by God. I- I know I was." She continued. "I was sent by God because… Because everything you're doing is wrong!" A small talk overtook the congregation for a moment, though many, Lester in particular, just waited with increasing looks of discomfort and fear.

"Listen to me… I know every one of you has just been trying to do what was, somehow, taught to you to be the right thing… But right now I'm here to prove to you it isn't the right thing! After all, I'm here and your master isn't. He isn't even communicating with you!"

"How… How do you know that?" Lester demanded.

"I told you, I was sent by God," Stephanie asserted. It wasn't true, of course. Cassandra had just explained the circumstances within the chapel and the ensuing struggle. And for her own part, Stephanie remembered what she herself had taught Cassandra way back when they had read the Old Testament. Sometimes a story didn't have to be true to be important. The response had instantly silenced Lester.

"Listen… Do any of you really think this is what God wants?" She asked. "Did Jesus kill all the high priests because they questioned his authority? Did he tell you you should all hate your neighbor and trust in destruction? Did he ever say to start… To start any of this?"

"But… But The Seraphim-"

"He's like those high priests from Jesus's time," Stephanie insisted. "He's corrupted by his own power. Brainwashed into thinking God is some terrible force of evil and dissent- well he's not!"

The turning of any other congregation of worshippers against their primary disciplines would ordinarily be a far more laborious task. But thankfully for Stephanie and the rest, every one of their minds was still swimming with hallucinogens and struggling to comprehend how anything but God could possibly have forced all these moments together. Lester only offered a half-hearted, "But… But…"

"And what kind of heaven is it you really want?" Stephanie asked. "A heaven full of violent destroyers and hate-mongers who did everything in the name of God without questioning it at all? Or maybe that everyone deserves a shot? I told you, I was sent by God. God is only interested in the latter. And none of you have any chance of making it there."

Batman gave her a nod of approval as the room was again silenced before Lester slowly pushed to his feet and asked, "Will… Will God forgive us…? Oh subordinate of his almighty mother?"

Stephanie stared at him, wondering for a moment just how much destruction he was already responsible for in his life before she gently said, "Give me the detonator."

White as a ghost, Lester raised the controlled and placed it in her hand. "I… We… We are sorry to have forced you to come… Servant of the virgin…"

"There are atheists doing a much better job at getting into heaven than you right now," Stephanie said, looking up at him. "You've all got a long way to go."

"We'll leave this place for good, honest!"

"We're sick of The Seraphim killing all our friends!"

"I've been looking for an excuse… But I thought one would never come!"

"Please," Lester said, still terribly shaken. "I… We… Will do anything to win back God's favor…"

"Yeah?" Stephanie asked, crossing the room and handing the detonator to the exhausted looking Batman, who began to examine it up and down and located its radio-receiver, destroying it quickly and rendering the trigger useless. "Then you can start by telling my friends here where all The Seraphim's toys are so they can destroy them… That helicopter back at Arkham seemed particularly out of nowhere."

"Yes… Yes of course!" Lester insisted. "I can take you from the trams! I swear it, we can destroy it all… All of you! Out of this chapel! We can stay here no longer!

It took a few moments of silence after the many had filed out for the Batman Family and the Birds of Prey to totally accept that the fight was finally over. But as they did Tim grabbed Stephanie tight and gave her a big hug. "Steph I- I can't even believe it! I don't know how but you just saved us! All of us!"

"Always- Ow! Not so tight. Always a pleasure, Tim," Stephanie said, flashing him and the rest a broad smile.

"But that does just raise the question- how did you know to do all that?" Huntress asked.

"I got a call about an hour ago from Cassie… I mean… Did you know-"

"It was mentioned over a headset they forced onto me," Batman replied. "I know Cassandra's out there, somewhere, facing The Seraphim… Nightwing! Birds of Prey! Follow Lester and destroy all that equipment. Contact me the _instant_ you reach the surface. I need to know he hasn't double-crossed you again."

"Will do," Blackhawk replied as Nightwing gave him a nod.

"Robin, Spoiler, you're coming with me. It's time to find our Angel and put a stop to this. Once and for all."

…

Every word out of Lester's mouth and many of Stephanie's had registered within The Seraphim and Angel's headset, the first of whom constantly screamed, "No, NO!" All throughout as Angel let out a weak little laugh.

The Seraphim had obtained all of his followers with lies of malice. Now they had all been destroyed by lies goodness.

As the feeling and power slowly returned to The Seraphim's body, the giant pushed to his feet, gripping the hammer in absolute fury. "You've ruined them!" He shouted, raising the hammer above his head. "I'll kill you- I'LL KILL YOU!"

As he took his swing, Angel rolled out of the way and made one last dash back towards the nave. After a little struggle from his still-recovering bones, The Seraphim ran in after her, only to find Angel had disappeared. It took him a moment to realize but, to his unnerve, he suddenly realized it was nearly time for midnight mass and the church was empty.

"Wait… What?!" He demanded. "Where… Where are they?! I can't die if I can't take the sinners with me!"

"The whole building's on police lockdown. No one in or out until the vigilante situation is clear." A voice from the opposite side of the building said. "I told them not to flash the lights yet. Not to try and attract your attention, lest you know what we were keeping everyone else out and you try to blow this place up in anger."

Monsignor Ryan, clutching his beloved Snowball, leaned against the wall of his office, glaring at The Seraphim with a satisfied look on his face. "I heard you yelling. I take it you've lost."

"… No, old man," The Seraphim replied, reaching into a pouch in one of his boots and producing a tiny container, inputting a numeric code and drawing the last detonator. "I haven't… You… The Angel… Me… We're all still going to die tonight!"

Before his finger could reach the trigger, a bright white rushed at him from behind, kicking the trigger from his hand, grabbing it out of mid-air and taking ahold of it. The Seraphim yelled opposition as Angel dodged backwards, holding the detonator out for him to see.

"Take it from me," Angel mocked.

In a reborn frenzy The Seraphim rushed at her, determined to reclaim what his madness insisted told him was his only escape from his miserable existence. Towards the front of the apse Angel ran, clutching the trigger for dear life. When she arrived at the front of the chapel, Angel drew her grappling hook and fired, successfully latching onto the crucifix in the center of the wall and allowing her to attain higher ground, landing in the small alcove that jutted out from a panel of stained glass. The Seraphim starred up at her in confusion as Angel began to kick the panel of glass at its bottom over and over, until it shattered and produced a hole just small enough for her to slip under. After she did, it only took a few seconds for the pounding of her fists to shatter the panel and send many of its small but not dust-like pieces flying towards the altar.

"What… What was that?" The Seraphim asked.

"This is your last chance," Angel said. "Surrender now."

Confusion again turned to anger as The Seraphim took his stance with the mallet again. "Never!"

By now, Angel was sure of her statement. She had observed his strategies and the way he did battle. She had seen every attack he had in his repertoire. But most important, she had seen how to counter his immortality and seemingly unstoppable healing factor. Everything she needed was right on the floor.

As the mallet hit the ground, Angle grabbed two shards of the shattered glass and stabbed them into two of the pressure points along The Seraphim's right arm. With another shout of pain the arm fell limp for a moment, but she gave him no time to recover. With a quick dodge to his left side, Angel mimicked the action and stabbed another few shards in exactly the same way. The Seraphim was already cringing and struggling as he was forced to release the mallet and he desperately tried to lower his mouth to the shards to remove them, only to allow Angel the chance to assault and brutally force more glass into the pressure points on his chest, grabbing new handfuls every time she went empty.

The Seraphim's cries of pain were soon replaced with ones of abject terror as his whole body began to go numb. His chest slumped over after numerous piercings, he fell to his knees after strikes to his legs, his arms remained useless at his side. A few well-places stabs left him unable to even move his neck as Angel combined the numbing of pressure point attacks with the power of a knife. Against any other opponent this would have been deadly from the earliest strikes, but against The Seraphim it successfully obstructed his body's healing factor.

Angel held a last shard of glass in her hand as she looked to the defeated Daniel Lebowitz before deciding she couldn't take any chances. For the third time she thrust at his heart. And this time, she finally got the results she had sought. Taking a few steps back from the kneeling Lebowtiz, she starred at her opponent, as if challenging him to do something.

But try as he may, noting but the smallest of cringes ran through his body. "It can't be… It CAN'T… I CAN'T MOVE!"

"It is finally finished," Angel said. "God's will is done."


	46. Chapter 42

With the battle finally over, Angel felt all the pain come rushing back to her, nearly falling to the ground but managing to catch herself with her good hand. Her breaths were heavy and the room was beginning to spin.

"Is… Is it over?" Monsignor Ryan asked, slowly hobbling over to her. As he did, Angel realized she had never put her mask back on. A shudder ran through her as he approached and she turned to two small wooden vestibules at the far side of the room. Not willing to allow Monsignor Ryan the chance to see her, she ran into the room and shut the door. "Wait!" The Monsignor yelled.

Angel desperately felt around the room for something to create a makeshift mask out of. When she couldn't find anything she wondered if she'd just stay in the room until some other aid arrived. Within a few minutes the door was opened, Angel left sitting in the tiny room, unmasked, as Monsignor Ryan looked down at her. He did not seem to think much of seeing her face at first, but after a few seconds double took.

"It's… It was you?" He asked. "Bruce Wayne's daughter? Tim's sister? This whole time, it was you?"

Accepting defeat as gracefully as she could, Angel gave him a nod.

"Even back in your old uniform… Back when you saved me from those hooligans… And you didn't even know what Catholicism was…?"

"I did not know what _religion_ was," Cassandra admitted. "No one ever told me. No one asked if I wanted to know… No one until you."

The two were silenced for a moment, Monsignor Ryan setting Snowball down as the dog quickly ran to her, licking her face and wounds in an attempt to comfort her. "Thank you," she told him with a little smile. She then turned to the Monsignor again. "I did not want you to see me like this. See who I am… It should be a secret."

"We have no fear," the priest replied with a little smile and laugh. "Or didn't you know? You stepped into a confessionary."

Cassandra gave him a look. "A what?"

"This room is used for the confessing of sins to a priest like me… And even if that's not what you're doing, I'm sworn to secrecy while you're in here. My collar as a priest, I will not tell a soul who you really are."

Cassandra went white at the kindness of his statement and, after some stammering, managed another, "Thank you." The two again sat in silence before he untucked his undershirt and stretched it out to her.

"Got any of those blades left? Cut some of this, you can wear that out."

Drawing one of her few remaining batarangs, Cassandra cut from the material and fashioned a temporary mask, allowing the two to step back out from the confessionary, Angel leading him to a pew to sit and laying Snowball in his lap.

"We should get the two of us to a hospital." Monsignor Ryan said.

"No. You and him." She said, motioning towards The Seraphim. "I just want my bed." Cassandra said. She turned and walked towards the entrance to the cathedral. As she opened the doors she got a good look at a small crowd, probably of the night's congregation, gathered behind a police barricade, a dozen cops keeping them back and an ambulance in the distance. Cassandra made her way to the front of the crowd where Lieutenant Bullock stood uneasily chewing on a toothpick.

"Yeash, sounded like bloody murder in there… Are you the only one left?" He asked.

"No one is dead," Angel replied. "Monsignor Ryan and The Seraphim are badly injured. They need a hospital."

"The Seraphim? The real deal? He's in there?"

"Too injured to move. Leave him as is and he will stay that way."

"Well about damn time! GCPD got to open a Christmas present one night early… Cept there's gonna be a lot of paperwork to do. Wherever the hell Jim is, he better get his ass back here."

With Angel's direction Monsignor Ryan and The Seraphim were both extracted from the church on stretchers, the small crowd began to lower their heads in prayer for their injured priest, Angel doing the same. Within half an hour the ambulances drove away and the crowds began to dissipate. Cassandra sighed, desperate to get back to Wayne Manor and get some sleep, but finding that at some point in the ensuing chaos she had lost the key to the Redbird. So, with no other plan obvious, she stepped back into the church and began to pray, the best comfort she felt she could have for the moment.

It wasn't ten minutes later when the doors of the cathedral opened and Cassandra smiled to herself, confident of what was waiting on the other side. Pushing to her feet, she turned saw Bruce, Tim and Stephanie, all still in costume, looking exhausted standing in the threshold that separated the entrance from the nave. Without saying a word, she fell into hugs with each of them, first with Tim, then with Stephanie and last with Bruce, who were also quiet, at least for the moment. When Bruce released her, she simply said, "We did it."

"I'll say we did!" Tim said, exacerbated. "I don't even know how, but we actually got through everything tonight!"

"Well I don't know about you guys, but I had a hell of a good coordinator for my little stunt," Stephanie said, flashing Cassandra a smile. "Seriously, I wasn't sure that was going to work, but they just ate it up!"

"And it looks like you managed to finally bring down The Seraphim. Incredible work… You've done great work tonight, Cassandra."

"I did not do it by myself," Cassandra said, turning for a moment and giving another grin towards the crucifix. "I too had someone leading me."

Tim gave both her and the crucifix a nod of approval as Stephanie pat her on the back a few times. "I still can't believe it's finally over," she said. "So… What now?"

Cassandra took a deep breath before letting out a sigh and admitting, "I want to go to bed."

The three of them had a good laugh as Bruce also looked up at the crucifix hanging at the front of the church, a tiny, soft _Thank you_ slipping past his lips.

…

At well past one AM Cassandra was lying in bed, preparing to turn out the light and fall asleep when there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" She called.

Bruce, having changed out of his uniform, stepped in and took a seat at the end of her bed. "I saw you got one of your Christmas presents early," he said. She noticed a small parcel, wrapped in paper in his hands.

"I was surprised. I loved it," she told him.

"The Seraphim managed to do it a lot of damage all at once. How does your body feel?"

"Sore. My hand may be broken."

"We should probably look at that before you go to sleep, but you've been through enough tonight… So, I take it you're trying to find ways to… Reconcile your faith with yourself."

"What do you mean?" Cassandra asked.

"Stephanie told me what happened just before you were captured… I know I should just let you sleep and you have the rest of your life to figure this out, but I just wanted to know if you needed anything from me."

Cassandra looked down a little, as she had been trying to put that night and the exchange out of her mind. But after a little thought, she replied, "I know what God is like. I saw Jesus in my dreams… They do not hate me because of love that I feel."

"I am glad that you feel that way," Bruce replied. "But I just know others may not. Others will, inevitably, try and fight you. Just like The Seraphim did. Because their idea of God is different from yours."

"But we do not have to fight," Cassandra said. "Stephanie's church is different. Dick does not go to church. But I will not fight them."

"What about your own church?"

Cassandra considered this for a moment before saying, "I am Catholic. It is my church and my God too. I joined because I met Jesus. No one will take that away."

With this, Bruce handed her the parcel, saying, "They could all use a few more like you. You get one more present before Christmas morning."

Taking the small package, Cassandra tore off the wrapping paper to find a jewelry box. Opening it, she was presented with a simple but beautiful silver cross on a chain. Smiling nearly to tears, she raised the necklace out of the box, Bruce taking it and fastening it around her neck. "Do you like it?"

Cassandra leaned forward and gave him another hug, saying, "I love it. Thank you, Dad."

Bruce was briefly silenced by this before he remarked, "You've never called me that before."

"I did once," Cassandra said quietly. "I am sorry I took so long… That is your Christmas present."

Releasing her grip, Bruce laid a hand on her bangs, kissing her forehead and saying, "I'll let you sleep now. Merry Christmas, Cassandra." As he walked to the door, he let out a little chuckle and said, "Goodnight, Angel."

As he did, Cassandra clutched the cross now hanging around her neck, happy tears running down her cheeks. Looking towards the ceiling, she began to pray.

_Thank you. Thank you for everything. Every moment. Every day. Every one._

_ Thank you for giving me the chance to love you. And thank you for loving me back._

And so she continued until a graceful sleep finally overtook her.

~The End~

[[Author's note: Exactly one year ago this adventure began. And so it finally comes to an end. I didn't plan it, but I'll take it.

There will be one last one-shot, kind of a short jump ahead and a mostly unrelated done-in-one chapter. I will also include my personal thoughts on the creative process and how in the world we got here.]]


	47. One Shot: Sins of the Mother

One Shot: Sins of the Mother

"Okay, so I've always wondered when I see that stuff in the movies and everything… How does it taste?"

"It is… It is terrible. Like cardboard."

"Pfff, ha ha ha!"

"I do not like the wine either. I try not to show it, but both taste very bad."

"I think brutal honesty is one of your best traits, Cass. I just hope your big man upstairs thinks so too."

"Didn't God make me this way? I do not think it matters much."

"Well, I hope not… So… What about us?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well…You're not addressing me right now. I get it. You don't have to. It's just supposed to be fun now… But what about later?"

"… I do not know."

"Nevermind. I'm sorry I said anything. We were having a good night. I didn't mean to try and mess that up."

"You didn't. I promise."

"Just… Listen… I know I've said it before but… But if there comes a time you need to choose-"

"I told you. I will not choose. My God will not make me choose."

"… Heh… You know how to make a girl feel special, Cass… Have a good night, okay? You got church again in the morning, right?"

"Every Sunday."

"Okay. I'll text you when I get home. Goodnight."

"Please do. Goodnight."

The two exchanged kisses on the cheeks before kisses on the lips, Cassandra watching as Sadie drove out of sight down the old road, shaking her head and blushing as she did. The two had been in regular contact since their escape six months before, but for the next four Cassandra had been strictly focused on her religious training. With her secret known to Monsignor Ryan, she had managed to streamline the RCIA process and was confirmed that Easter. Though the journey had not been long it had often felt hard-fought. But at last the day came, her dearest friends and family gathered in the church as she was given her rights and accepted her first communion. Which, she had maintained, had indeed tasted terrible.

Dick had soon left town again on his own business, asking Cassandra to pray for him while he was away. Tim had come along with her nearly every week since the new year, admitting that even if it wasn't easy, it was good to go back. Both Barbara and Bruce had said time and again how proud they were of her, for all she had fought for and the choices she had made, even if they were not their own. Ironically, perhaps most comforting of all was that nothing had changed between her and Stephanie, same for both occasionally asking to ensure the answer they already knew.

And then there was Sadie. A girl who remained by her in the hospital despite barely knowing her name and helping her escape when she was needed elsewhere. She carried a lot of baggage, had still been reserved on some matters, but had slowly grown more comfortable on others. Including that the kidnapping by The Seraphim had finally given her the courage to leave her neglectful mother. She said she was staying with a cousin of her dad's in town, who she said "Likes me for me." She seemed to be doing much better herself. It was that sense of care and humility that had endeared Cassandra to her. Though she was afraid at first to reach out as anything more than a friend, Bruce had encouraged her, saying simply, "I've got a feeling she likes you back."

Cassandra hadn't kept anything though. She really didn't know how her current love and religious lives were going to intersect. At church, Sadie was still a silent affair, one even Tim, as encouraging as he had become on both fronts, said she shouldn't try and tackle yet. For the time being, Cassandra just remembered Bruce's words from Christmas Eve: that she had the rest of her life to figure these things out. Maybe one day there wouldn't need to be such a divide anymore. She had been praying for it.

She jumped a little when her silence was interrupted by a buzzing in her pocket. She slipped out the cellphone she barely knew how to operate and answered, "Hello?"

"Hey lovebird, you back at the manor yet?" Stephanie teased.

"Just arrived," Cassandra confirmed.

"Yeah? Good. I've got news… It's her. She's definitely here."

Cassandra froze. "You are sure?"

"Batman just ran the fingerprints on one of the knives. She's here, Cass… And she might even be heading for you."

Cassandra's eyes turned first towards the manor and then towards the gardens, wondering what was about to take place before remarking, "I will be ready."

…

Twenty minutes later Cassandra emerged from the front door, pulling on a domino mask and walking towards the fountain in front of the mansion. Within moments however, she noticed a small but enlarging puff of smoke coming out from its bubbling waters. Angel took a few steps backward, raising a hand to her sword. "I know you are there." She said.

"I'd be far more disappointed if you didn't." A voice replied from the smoke.

Over the last two weeks there had been six murders reported against numerous members of Gotham's crime families. No bullets, no poison, some not even bearing slash marks. Stephanie had barely needed to say anything, the opposition had come to the courtyard.

"You know, my confidant wanted to know if I'd be interested in taking a few jobs here a few months back." A pair of black, leather boots stepped out of the smoke, leading to tight-covered legs of the same color. "Sounded odd at first too. Someone named Mr. White wanted me to try and kill _other_ assassins. Said he didn't want the crazy cult slowly overtaking the city to be disassembled so soon."

"That was our doing," Angel replied firmly.

"Perhaps," the voice replied, stepping out of the shadow and revealing a devilish smile. "I'd have come by too, but I was busy with some business back in Istanbul. Two rich, warring families, their blood feuds going back generations… I played for both teams. The Baydars paid for my plane ticket back here. The Nazif bought me some new boots."

Above all else, the most terrifying aspect of Lady Shiva had always been her confidence. Everything from the faces she made to her calm, unnervingly collected stride suggested she would never enter a battle she did not know she could win.

"Maybe you don't remember, but you left me to live after I asked you to leave me to die," Shiva said. "And you finally beat me… But I've been wondering for a while if I should really count it. Do you recall how Lazarus Pits function, Cassandra? They'll save the dying, but they'll kill the living. I wondered if you didn't simply come back strong. If that wasn't the only reason you defeated me like you did."

"Then we will see," Angel said.

"But I had to get a look at this disaster first," Shiva taunted. "The daughter of two of the world's premier assassins, dressing up in a half-complete Batman costume and pretending to be Saint Jude."

"Jude is my patron saint," Angel said with a twinge of annoyance.

"Oh of course she is," Shiva continued to mock. "I thought you were a great warrior. Thought you had come to see no master but yourself. Not your father, not Batman, no one. But now you bow to the grandest illusion of them all… I know you have felt someone die before, Cassandra. I know you have felt the void that waits on the other side. If there ever was a God, he left us to our own devices. Long, long ago."

"You're wrong."

Shiva's hand fell to the handle of the blade latched to her belt. "Prove it."

In amidst the smoke the two drew their swords and clashed, each of them holding the lock for only a moment before separating and beginning their duel. The two fought as masters, no known equal between the two of them but one another. Mother and daughter, goddess and angel, entangled in a battle foreseen before Cassandra had even been born.

Their movements were practically superhuman, dodging cuts and accepting parries at dizzying speeds as the smoke billowing out of the fountain continued to obstruct both of their views of their surroundings. Sidestepping a slash, Shiva vanished into the growing clouds, Angel searching and listening all around for some sign of her. Turning the wrong way, Angel took a kick to her back, knocking her onto one knee as Shiva again disappeared from sight. "Come on. Your father and I taught you better than that."

"I have two fathers," Angel said ruefully. "And neither one is David."

"I should hope you're not about to show me that same kind of disrespect!"

Shiva's taunt gave away her position, allowing Angel to turn and swing her sword, steel meeting steel once again. With that meeting the elder master again went silent as they resumed clashing in the artificial fog. Every move and every strike Shiva made appeared perfectly choreographed, a far cry from the more brutal, randomized style of foes like The Seraphim. Her movements were almost devilishly playful, only periodically making shallow slashes in the cuts in the black of Angel's armor and drawing blood when she seemed to have toyed with her enough for the moment.

"You can do better than that. Unless your God is holding you back," Shiva continued to mock.

Though Angel didn't say it aloud, the one thought that passed her mind was _Never_. As Shiva again disappeared into the obscuring fog, Angel froze in place and softly closed her eyes and waited. The yard was almost silent for a few seconds, but she could hear the beating of feet against grass coming from behind her.

Turning swiftly, Angel swung her blade with enough force to throw Shiva's sword from her hands, knocking it across the lawn and allowing her to raise her own to her mother's throat. "That is enough." Angel said.

"Oh Cassandra, as if you actually had it in you." Shiva said with a smirk. With that she knocked the blade from its position with her elbow and thrust a palm into her daughter's face, knocking her backwards and breaking enough cartilage to bloody it.

As Angel pushed back to her feet, Shiva rushed and began to set upon her with a flurry of punches and kicks. Angel struggled to catch some of the strikes with her sword, but Shiva quickly forced it from her hands with a rising kick before delivering a second of her chin, again putting her to the ground.

"You did better last time. Maybe that was all the Lazarus Pit," she observed. "It's still disappointing."

"You… Do not know me." Angel said, pushing back to her feet. Thankfully the white of her armor had absorbed a lot of impact from Shiva's attacks, but little was protecting her face and head from such strikes. Still, she wiped the blood from her nose and took her fighting stance again, refusing to surrender.

"You're right. I really don't." Shiva said, shaking her head.

As their fight resumed Angel felt her move observing skills pushed to their limit. Shiva had always proved one of her few true superiors in the past, and he was holding little back here. Struggling to keep up, Angel managed to regain her footing and block a few of Shiva's kicks, delivering an uppercut thereafter and finally causing her mother to stagger. But Shiva's recovery was quicker, allowing for a kick to the side of Angel's head, a strike that brought stars to her eyes. Barely able to make out another kick coming at her, Angel ducked and thrust an elbow into Shiva's back, forcing her off balance in return. Raising her foot, she delivered a kick to the same spot on her lower back, finally forcing Shiva to the ground.

"Hmph, a decent start," Shiva replied, quickly getting back on her feet. "So then-"

With a quick strike, Shiva drove two fingers into the under-armored black of Angel's left shoulder. She grit her teeth as her arm fell limp, the strike temporarily paralyzing it. Struggling to maintain any kind of edge, Angel grabbed a handful of Shiva's hair and sent her crashing into her knee, thrusting her away thereafter. Shiva's recovery remained quick and masterful.

"I'll bet you wouldn't have even taken that hit a while back," Shiva observed. "You don't have the strength to keep up with me anymore… Give me one reason to believe you weren't the worst student I ever had." Shiva raised her hand and made a goading motion at Angel. "Do something already! Prove me wrong!"

Angel clutched her arm, trying to put the dead weight out of her mind. As the fog seemed to finally dissipate, Angel's mind turned to the one way she could possibly turn the tables. Shiva had taught her so much, but one thing remained above all the rest.

Angel took a sprint towards her mother, left arm hanging uselessly as she did, Shiva hardly giving her any mind. But just as she prepared to block a strike to her chest, Angel jumped as high as she could force herself, drop-kicking her right in the face and knocking her to the ground. Laying on her back, Shiva gripped the ground to try and push herself back up. But before she could, Angel took her place just overhead, opening her good palm and letting out a triumphant shout.

Thereafter, she thrust her palm into Shiva's chest, delivering a single, well-placed assault to her heart.

For a moment, Shiva's eyes grew wide, a small smile coming across her face.

But seconds later, it turned to a frown, followed by a wheeze of pain. It took a little longer to elicit a real reaction, but Shiva at last muttered, "I can't move…"

"I know." Angel said, her breaths heavy but proud. "How many… How many did you kill all in an instant? Without warning? With that attack?"

"I can't count that high," Shiva muttered, now fighting and cringing against the pain overwhelming her body. "But that… It's supposed to be an instant kill."

"I know." Angel replied. "I spent months practicing. Preparing. I learned something. A stronger attack, spread over a larger area… It is much harder to let someone live by that strike… I learned years ago more difficult can be better. I suited it to my purpose."

"… Spoken like a real Christian, I suppose," Shiva said, again letting out a wheeze of pain and trying to force another movement from anywhere in her body. "You've sent me into shock… Damn it."

With the last of the fog cleared, Angel could make out someone else headed towards her, a body that brought a smile to her face.

"Holy crap. And Batman just sent me to check if you'd need any backup." She said. "I can hardly believe it, you already won?"

"Yes. You missed it." Angel chuckled. Standing across from her, garbed in a newly updated Batgirl suit, purple running up the sides and accompanying the signature black, was Stephanie.

She had called it various things from a promotion to an inauguration. But as they had talked about, Cassandra had given up her mantle as Batgirl to become Angel, and Stephanie had at long last secured a well-earned place amongst the family she had fought alongside for so long.

…

Shiva was handed over to the police shortly thereafter with the assurance she'd be handled with the utmost attention. Even after she regained the feeling in the rest of her body, she would not have a way to escape. Angel and Batgirl disappeared a few sentences into Gordon's assurance and made for a nearby rooftop to watch as the still incapacitated Shiva was taken away.

"She's a master assassin, you know," Batgirl said, sliding off her cowl for the moment. "She'll probably find a way out again."

"If she does, I will force her back. Long as it takes." Angel said, doing likewise with her mask and then opening and closing her eyes a few times, trying reorient her eyesight. "Forgive your enemy not seven times. Seventy times seven." Cassandra recited.

"Boy, you really got it all figured out, don't you?" Stephanie chuckled. "I taught you well, my pupil… But I guess I'll never get to follow up on what I said about teaching you how to talk to boys."

"Never say never," Cassandra said. "How is your leg?"

"Good as new. Ready to kick Scarab or Black Mask or Jason Todd right in the butt next time I see any of them." Stephanie replied, leaning against the solitary structure that housed the staircase to the roof, taking in the sight of Saint Michael's Cathedral across the street. "You did a good job saving that place. It's beautiful."

"It is _all_ beautiful." Cassandra said.

"What, Gotham? Different strokes for different folks Cass. I love this city, but it's a complete hole."

"No… Everything. You, me, Tim, Dad, Sadie, even Shiva, in a way." Cassandra said. "Even she gave me what I needed… She helped me stop that madman. It is all so beautiful."

"They say God works in mysterious ways," Stephanie said. "Mysterious and beautiful I guess. Me and Tim wanna take you guys out one of these nights. Make sure she's actually dating material and all that. We have some strict standards for you." With this remark, Stephanie playfully punched Cassandra's arm and the two laughed. "Hey, are you heading home soon? I know you have church in the morning."

"Yes, I just-" Before Cassandra could finish her thought, there came a scream, a shatter and the screeching of alarms from a building about a block down the road. Both glared in its direction and, with a mutual nod, pulled their masks back on.

"Seems like God has other plans for your evening Cassie," Stephanie said.

Cassandra rushed towards the edge of the roof, bounding off and grappling towards the danger. "They can try to take from my home. They never will. Not as long as I am here. Not as long as I am Gotham's Guardian Angel."

…

Author's Process and Reflection:

For my fellow Christian readers (Catholic or otherwise ;D) reading right as this is first being released, a very happy belated Easter to you. On the chance I have any Jewish readers, happy belated Passover. Anyone who does not celebrate any religious holidays, I hope the weather has been excellent where you are. And to anyone reading this after these happy messages become dated, well have a lovely day nonetheless.

So as I'm thinking over this thing, I guess my own biggest question is how the heck I got here. This story was never supposed to be this huge, this consuming or this big a deal. But I guess passing thought after passing thought and life event after life even just kept pushing me to work on this thing. But to talk about the process, we gotta go back to before I was even thinking about this story at all.

Religion and all its connotations, good and bad, has always been one of the topics that interests me the most. In spite what the darkness and themes introduced in the story's second half might suggest, I am a practicing and in my mind, pretty reverent Roman Catholic. I sleep with a Bible next to my pillow, go to mass every Sunday and one of my proudest possessions is my grandfather's rosary. I've never even experienced a real crisis of faith, so far as I can remember.

So of course that interest worked its way into my writings. It's a common theme in a number of original fantasies I will publish sooner or later, and was a topic of study in my previous large scale story _Devil May Cry: Revelations_, which was a video game styled exploration of the Revelation of Saint John and featured Dante from Devil May Cry as its hero. There was some religious talk and Dante's slow return from agnosticism to… Something. It's never totally clear what the tenants of his mother's religion are, but they have an Abrahamic flavor to them. So that was a chance to explore the themes, but I kinda wanted to go deeper.

From the first mention of the _Angel of the Bat_ pitch by Gail Simone (a favorite comic writer of mine) on TVTropes, I began to wonder just how that story would have played out. But of course, Gail's pitch was just briefly mentioned and didn't have a lot of crucial plot details to it, such as _how_ Cassie was going to learn about Christianity and how her conversion would really fit into her crime-fighting career. Obviously, if I was going to undertake telling this story that had never been told, I needed to fill in those gaps.

So as I said, I'm Catholic myself, and decided I should stick to what I know… Although I had a chance to bond with some nice Muslim men while attending Mosque at one point and took a little one-on-one training with their Imam, so there were a few times I wondered what this story would be like using Islam instead of Catholicism. It is a beautiful faith, and I am proud to call most Muslims I have met "cousins" in faith. A common ancestry in our beliefs, just a few differences along the way. Still a lot of the same blood. Some bad apples really can feel like they ruin the bunch. And if I someday write the _Angel of the Bat_/_Ms. Marvel_ crossover I have considered on and off, I hope to talk on that some more.

So then I had to replace Gail's unnamed preacher with a priest, or, for my purposes, a Monsignor. Monsignor George Ryan is based on two of my religious teachers: Deacon George Capizanno and Monsignor Gerald Ryan. Backstory wise he has more resemblance to Deacon George, who had family in the Mafia when he was growing up and eventually repented from the actions he had witnessed. Monsignor Gerry Ryan on the other hand was a kind, soft-hearted man, always smiling and always encouraging. He never gave up on anyone. One night, while at the church late, he encountered a white toy poodle who had been abandoned, who he took in and named Tiny. A few years after Tiny's death, he would adopt another toy poodle from the shelter (what are the odds? They're expensive breeds) who he named Snowball. I never really knew Tiny, but Snowball was a good, valued friend to me in my religious education. Tweaking his backstory to work in his Irish surname, I created the character of Monsignor George Ryan as an amalgamation. Snowball really isn't a character in my mind, he's the actual dog put to page as far as I'm concerned.

So the next hurdle to overcome was explaining this all to a character like Cassandra. She doesn't understand symbolism or metaphors well, she has trouble articulating her concerns, how was this supposed to work? So I decided I wanted to make Stephanie help out the way best friends help out.

Steph is actually my favorite character in all of DC, hence why she got a lot of focus and utterly badass moments in this story. She's just, I dunno, so masterfully able to jump from sweet and lovable to hilarious and snarky. It makes her a fantastic foil for Cassie. Stephanie's religion has never been mentioned in DC, so I kinda considered that I had free reign. I made her a Methodist because it seemed most in line with her character and unending good nature. Many characters can feel informed by their religion at times, but in this case I decided to let Steph's character inform her faith.

And the next major decision I had to make was what kind of antagonist I wanted. I could have just done this as one of those "unmasked" fics what focus more on one's personal life and less on their heroics… But I'm writing a friggen Batman story! I didn't want to throw that away. The Seraphim came to me pretty quickly from there. I've felt for a while like the atheistic villain in a religious story is painfully overdone and speaks poorly of atheists, which I feel only encourages more division between those with and without faith as people. Anyone who has read to the end here should really clearly understand this opinion by now: those who will harm others in God's name are _far_ worse to me than those who do not believe. But more on atheists a bit later. I had been thinking on and off for various projects on creating some kind of backwards thinking Christian zealot, someone with the qualities of Fred Phelps protests and Adolf Hitler's Master Race combined. I knew from the beginning he was going to be an ethnic Jew, and I even set out to give him a name and appearance that strongly fed off of that. I think I got the idea to call him "The Seraphim" while thinking about Alan Rickman playing The Metatron in _Dogma_ (one of my favorite movies). Main character Bethany Sloan does not recognize what a seraphim is when Rickman/Metatron introduces himself, which reminded me the appearance of the Biblical seraphim was rather sparse and obscure. But, since I know my random Bible facts, I also know Kevin Smith mislabeled him, since "one" seraphim is a "seraph". I kinda wondered what would happen if the bad guy was simultaneously so close and yet so far from his intention: that he was spewing weird, random Bible facts and thought he was this great obscure reference, but he didn't even get the reference right, showing how little he really knows… Although let's be clear about one other thing real quick, "The Seraphim" sounds quite a bit more awesome and badass to me than "The Seraph". So even if it was inaccurate, it still works.

The last bit of preliminary planning I usually do is the final battle. I usually don't get all the logistics worked out at once, just some of them. I like to plan the final battle early because then I know what I'm building towards and I can start foreshadowing everything. I knew we were going to end up in a church, that there would be sword fighting and The Seraphim would be defeated by a beat down to his pressure points, a la the Hyuuga clan from Naruto. So then I had to present the Gotham Cathedral a while beforehand, equip The Seraphim with a sword (not too hard, given his angel motif) and include pressure point attacks as a consistent part of Cassie's attack repertoire. The initial plans changed a lot when the final version was released, but those three things remained constant at least.

So although that kind of captured everything I initially wanted, the story felt too easy in a lot of ways. It felt too easy and frankly unfair to represent a rebirth in religious service as something straightforward and simple. I think a lot of religious matters are simpler than we make them: you shouldn't bother anyone else for choosing to or not to pray at meal time, that's their business, not yours etc. But a lifetime dedicated to faith is a very complex thing, and although I said I have never had a true crisis of faith, I can certainly own that I once believed my religion was very simple and made perfect sense. I can now say I feel rather differently. More on that when we get there.

So, initial planning was finally done, my cast of characters was at least partially decided, it was time to write. I mentally divide Angel into five different, uneven pieces: The Initial Inquiry (Chapters 1-10), The Charge (Chapters 11-23), The Beautiful (Chapters 24-29), The Crisis of Faith (Chapters 30-36) and True Belief (Chapters 37-42).

The Initial Inquiry was, of course, Cassie's earliest experiences with the prospect of religion and her first impressions. This is not to say this is the first time she's experienced belief, as it's pointed out Cassie might not communicate well, but she's far from stupid. And she was homeless for a number of years, probably learning at some point or another that the buildings with the crosses were a good place to go for food and warmth. But as per Gail's outline, it's saving a holy man that leads her to become very interested in the ideals, mostly after seeing his humility, a trait Cassandra has a lot of herself. Tim Drake, himself a once reverent Catholic in my mind (his last name is Drake after all) is presented as someone potentially useful but out of focus, as the death of his father back in Identity Crisis has made him jaded to the ideas of his faith. But Cassie is supplemented by the support of her best friend Stephanie and the quiet support of Bruce.

Bruce himself serves an unusual purpose by Batman standards in this story, namely that he actually isn't so much interested in Cassandra becoming religious as he is interested in Cassandra growing up. Bruce gets a lot of crap from people questioning what kind of adoptive parent he is, and a lot of it is deserved, but he really wants to be a good father, especially to Cassie, who has never known what a good father is. So he supports her because he thinks it will make her more well-rounded and healthy, which it ultimately does.

The Initial Inquiry is much more of a Cassandra story than it is a Batgirl story, mostly because I wanted to begin by presenting the matter from a very human state of mind. So we have a casual interest possibly turning into something more, again as Gail intended. But this all changes when The Seraphim and his goons show up and display the frightening power for evil faith can be used for, which kills some of Cassandra's interest, forcing Tim to open up to her some more about how, jaded as he has become, he doesn't believe religion is a tool of evil, and can be a good thing when handled properly.

The Charge is the longest of the five sections of the story, though I think in my mind I planned on all of them being just as long, for better or for worse I cannot say. The Charge marks Cassie taking a more active role in her growing faith, learning more about the New Testament, trying to understand prayer and even calling The Seraphim out during their initial confrontation in Arkham Asylum. We also have what I consider Cassie's first genuine moment of belief in Chapter 18, in which she prays for comfort and oddly finds herself warmer in the bed she felt was too cold. It's a very sweet little moment, and one of my favorite in the entire story.

And of course I gotta talk a little at least about Chapter 22. By far one of the strangest experiences I have ever had writing a piece of fiction. Chapter 22 was informed by everything: Disney's Fantasia, Amazing Grace, musicals and ballets I have seen, and, oddly enough, a little Super Mario Galaxy (I always found Mario skating across water with the ice flower to be strangely beautiful). Do I think that is a proper representation of what accepting God is for most people? No, probably not. But Cassie's not most people. I was raised with my faith and never lost it, I can't say what that great awakening is really like… But I can say how I felt years ago when I started paying attention in mass and started investing a lot more time and energy into my faith. When I began to realize the implications of believing in a glorious God who had shaped the world's beauty and personally loved all of creation, I was moved to tears. As Amazing Grace asks us, "How precious did that grace appear/The hour I first believed?" I wanted to give my answer: awe inspiring, sublime and beyond words, hard as I tried to capture it. The Jesus Cassie sees is an amalgamation of the Christ on the crucifix, a common man and Bruce Wayne, and his silence lends itself to Cassie's own difficulty communicating. These traits are meant to symbolize that Jesus either appeared in a form Cassie was comfortable with or that he was a construct of her mind. I don't think I believe there is a right answer to that divide, just the answer we make for ourselves.

So we move into The Beauty. Some psychologists have an idea they suggest between people that they call "The Honeymoon Phase", which essentially states that two individuals in interaction will encounter a phase, early in their relationship, in which everything feels perfect. Cassie is so comfortable with her religious faith that she stands up to Bruce when he tries to forbid her from wearing the Angel costume. God makes perfect sense to Cass at this point. Her belief is right, The Seraphim and his kind are wrong. But at the same time, in my mind at least, something is definitely a little off. The argument against the first Angel costume is totally legitiment, and part of the reason The Seraphim manages to capture her is because the uniform wasn't practical. And bad, bad stuff is happening. Red Hood's killing people and nearly crippled Steph, The Seraphim is growing more aggressive, things are bad.

Jason Todd and Deacon Blackfire were pretty late additions to the story, and were decided to be included only just before they entered. The post-humorous Blackfire created a stronger connection back to older Batman stories and gave us a better idea of how The Seraphim became the man he did. Jason was added due to his own connection back to Blackfire and, being totally honest here, so I could write Jael. More on that in a little bit.

When I first wrote The Burning One, it wasn't supposed to be The Seraphim's definitive backstory. There were a lot of blanks left in, particularly his brother Joshua. Even now I think was more to Josh than I ever said. I think he had a wife and possibly even children, but I'm not sure if they're alive or not and if that's true, Josh must have had some reasoning behind never talking to Cassie about them.

As briefly mentioned in an author's note, this arc was going to be a bit or maybe even much longer earlier on, with Cassie getting more time and chances to prove herself in the Angel uniform rather than one major confrontation. It was cut for time, and I didn't really want to introduce a new status quo that was going to change all in an instant. Again, for better or for worse is up to the readers, but I just realized how much more I still wanted to do, so I trimmed it.

One could possibly read The Charge and The Beautiful as religious propaganda, and maybe it is. But a lot of that, I think, kinda gets thrown out the window with The Crisis of Faith.

So it's time to talk about the moment I kinda wanted to get under some people's skin. Cassandra has romantic feelings for Stephanie. Why oh why did I decide to play with fire like this? To be honest, I almost didn't. I hesitated a lot and wondered how well it would gel with everything I'd already said. I worried about alienating some of my religious readers. But ultimately, I couldn't deny it of myself. I think the moment I knew for sure I had to do it was reading over the profile of the deviantartist who designed the Batgirl logo I edited into the Angel symbol. She's a practicing Christian and an open lesbian. That was the moment I chuckled, shook my head and said, "Must be a sign." Now am I literally saying I think had me encounter that chick to say, "MJTR! Don't you dare skimp out on the lesbian subplot!"? Nah, probably not. But it was close enough.

The funny thing is I don't even think Cassie's gay… Necessarily. Growing up the way she did, so cut off from love and affection, I'm not sure Cassie sees sexuality at all. Case and point, look at that one story where she went out to Smallville so she could get Connor Kent to kiss her. When she tries to get it, she realizes she never really wanted, only that she thought she was SUPPOSED to want it. But just because she sees the world differently doesn't mean she can't feel love or can't experience romantic love. So honestly, if that's how you're wired, you're going to have feelings for your best friend. Heck, there's no way I can even claim this one. I thought Cassie and Steph had a lot of homoerotic moments as was. And, being totally honest here, I do think they'd be cute together. I like Tim and Steph together better, but not by much.

But still, all that says about why the subplot was included was that I already considered it part of Cassie's character. There is more to it than that though. Like I said, I wanted there to be some kind of grave catalyst. A moment in which Cassie's newfound faith was challenged. And this just ended up being the most fitting way to go about it. I wanted to say that no religion, even my own, is perfect. I could have gone about it in a number of ways, but those would have ranged from weak to horribly out of character. I could have addressed how mean-spirited and hateful evangelizing could be, but couldn't come up with a good excuse. I could have had Cassandra in a pregnancy that threatened her life and not being supported by the church for terminating to save herself, but that just feels too hot-button and would have required Cassie to have sex with someone, which I didn't want to get into. The exile of divorce and single motherhood wouldn't have worked, for various reasons, so I just used the topic I felt I knew the most about and that I think incurs a lot of my frustration. Me and my bisexual Catholic girlfriend both.

Few greater hypocrisies exist to me than the continued existence of religious homophobia. Maybe it isn't the greatest call for concern in a world torn apart by warring countries and nuclear arms races, but it is something that feels important to me nonetheless. I was taught that God is love, and we are meant to share that love with one another. And obviously this doesn't extend out to everyone and everything. I do not have a problem believing romantic love between an adult and a child or a human and an animal is wrong, but I believe wholeheartedly that one should not be prevented from loving another because of sex or gender. Love is a gift from God, and like all things can be corrupted, but we needn't continue seeking corruption where it just doesn't exist. And by discriminating against these human siblings of ours, we are denying them the opportunity to be with and know God. And that is a grievous sin. I do not support my LGBT brethren in spite of my faith. I support them BECAUSE of it.

So, long rant out of the way, we return to the story itself. In spite of considering backing out multiple times, I ultimately went through with Cassie coming out about her feelings and foreshadowed even when I was hesitant. Steph and Cassie talk about the phrase, "God is love" a fair deal and let's just say when Cassie said that line from Chapter 11, "I like the way he is with you. Sometimes I want that too", she wasn't referring to switching places with Stephanie so she could love time, she was talking about switching places with Tim so she could love Steph.

Foreshadowed or not, I tried my best to make sure it's more of a reread bonus than something you could have guessed before chapter 28, where Cassie pretty much IS all but saying it aloud. When she confesses, as we see, it blows up in her face and the costume ultimately gets her captured, leading into the darkest chapters of the story.

How about we take a break from that for a bit and talk about something a LITTLE less crazy and preachy, namely the arc Steph has in the story that culminates in Jael. I'm not a big fan of angsty characters and their whining, but frankly, something felt off to me that Stephanie didn't angst MORE, even just once to get it out of her system. I love Bryan Q. Miller's 2009-2011 run, it's fun and hilarious, but I always felt there were still some serious unresolved issues to the character. I like Stephanie as happy, bubbly and upbeat, but if felt like there should have been some point in there where she just had to let all the insanity go. I always called her revival in Violent Tendencies cheap and lazy, but worth it because we got her back. But then the more I thought about it, the more I realized her being alive and carted away by Leslie Thompkins would still REALLY mess the poor girl up, or at least should have. Especially after, as she points out, Batman never tried to find her. Bruce, who I do think Steph looks at as an uncle of sorts, never tried to look for her after a death he says he believed might have been faked.

This leads into some of her behaviors in the fight with Scarab and later Red Hood. She's not fighting those fights for Bruce, she's fighting them for herself (but also Cassie in the latter case). Bruce's apathy damaged her psyche so much that she could have killed Scarab with her bare hands if Cassie would have let her, to prove to herself she wasn't the failure Bruce had made her feel like. She never openly tries to kill Red Hood, because of the information he has and because Cassie wouldn't want her to, but beating him says she's not the worst Robin of them all, and proves she deserves better than Jason did. But really, more than anything else, she just wanted to scream at Bruce and demand to know where he got off having his "Batman Family" and never trying to care about her. It's more of a scream directed at DC than Batman, to be honest, but she just couldn't take it anymore. Bruce did really screw up by this understanding, and she deserved to hear him apologize.

And, from a less symbolic standpoint, it was a rather heavy handed taste of my disdain for Jason Todd and his growing army of fangirls. I wrote Jason how I like him best: a smooth bastard whose motivations you can understand… But is still a bastard. Under the Red Hood represented that very well. Even if he was sympathetic, I think the writers still wanted to portray Jason unambiguously as the bad guy in that story. And heck, I even like it when he periodically descends into complete monster territory. He was a legitimately good villain in Battle for the Cowl. But the perceived generic "bad boy" attitude he got saddled with and carried over into the New 52 always felt forced, painful and stupid. Weirder still, I found out there's a substantial shipping community between him and Stephanie. Like, what?! Steph doesn't have it in her to date a bad boy. Her long term boyfriend is the butt of most of the DC fanbase's eternal virgin jokes (and the fact that he's Catholic here just makes that funnier). No, I'd much rather see Jason and Steph punching one another, thank you very much.

My one real regret about the scene is it plays out almost exactly like Cassie's scene with Jesus later, which, unfortunately, makes it feel kind of repetitive. But sometimes we all need to just yell at the people we love, and we need to be reminded that they really do care. And a last piece of business here: Did Bruce actually have Steph's body double buried with the costume, or, as its multiple appearances later in DC suggest, did he make that up to help her feel better. To that I say: No comment.

Going back to Cassandra's story, we then go through several chapters of flat out torture and struggling to make a plan with Joshua. I know it's obvious enough that it hardly needs be commented on, but the purpose of Joshua was obviously to display the better man Daniel could have been, and that an atheistic character like Josh is far better, for man and to God, than a violent believer like The Seraphim.

Some of you might know this already, but I am also a creepypasta writer, and I even use the same screenname. So creating nightmarish visuals during the introduction of The Mist felt like it came pretty naturally. By the way, The Mist was originally going to be called, "Epiphany". I have no idea why the hell I changed it. If I go back and George Lucas anything in this story, it will be changing every reference to "The Mist" back to "Epiphany". It just works so much better.

Funnily enough, The Seraphim's immortality was a VERY late addition to the story, not added to my plans until after True Belief had begun. When Cassie's heart-stopping move didn't work, I didn't have an explanation for why, I just said I'd figure it out later. Then Joshua described his attempts to kill The Seraphim ending in failure and the sheer amount of crazed brainwashing Blackfire would have to do to create his crazed messiah. So ultimately, I just threw up my hands and said, "Screw it. He's immortal." Even though I didn't plan much of any of that, it made the connection back to Blackfire even better, since Blackfire himself was said to be deathless unless his totem was destroyed. A couple of these happy little plot points gleefully came together at the end and formed a plot twist I thought was rather hard to predict, but still fit.

Sadie was also a late addition, and in my original plan Cassie was just going to save herself. But Sadie gave her someone to interact with in the escape and someone who could tell the rest of the family what was going on after they escaped The Seraphim's clutches. I knew as I was creating her that she was going to be a lesbian, though I didn't know for sure if she'd end up being Cassie's love interest when all the flames died down. More on that in True Belief though.

Those of you who read this story upon its original release know I lost by beloved pet beagle right around Christmas time in 2014. She was a beautiful creature, and without a doubt one of my very best friends. What I didn't mention initially was that her name is also Sadie, and the character was named in her honor. The fact that she wears dog tags probably takes on a whole new meaning, huh? And obviously there's only so much you can do between the personality of a dog and a person, but there's definitely a little of Sadie the dog in Sadie the human. She's supportive, caring, she'll stay at your side and she's a great hugger. So she and Cassie hook up at the end because she's shown Cassandra the same qualities of friendship she loved in Stephanie. Maybe it won't last forever, I dunno. For right now it's just… Puppy love, dare I say?

*BOOO! BOO!*

Alright, alright. I'll stop.

And then at the end of Crisis of Faith Cassie meets Jesus again in a much darker reimagining of their first meeting. She demands in one meeting the questions religious people, whether they acknowledge it or not, spend the rest of their life trying to figure out. "Why did you make people this way?" "Why aren't I allowed to do this?" And perhaps most poignant, "Why didn't you just take away the pain?" Maybe the fic makes it sound like I know the answer, but I really don't. Maybe the answer is as simple as "free will and human nature", I don't know. For some people, not having these answers destroys their faith. For me, it makes me want to keep exploring. And, in spite of not getting a complete answer, Cassandra is reminded of the good mankind is capable of as well, and for that reason accepts that she can have her faith even without perfect answers, and that God really does love her, no matter what. Sometimes I'm awful at it, but I really do try to be an idealistic person.

I think it is important that Jesus gives her a choice, and that's the first time we hear him speak. He doesn't threaten her, doesn't tell her to worship him or go to hell, he gives her a choice to continue being religious or to abandon her faith. The only repercussion he describes is that he would be sad to see her go. No fire, no brimstone, just sad to see her go. And so Cassie has to make her choice. And although I couldn't get it into the reading, I want to own that if she had rejected him, Jesus still would have woken her up. Or she would have awoken by herself, if you are of the belief it was all in her head. But she doesn't reject him, she chooses to maintain her belief. Cassandra makes the decision by herself to continue living her religious life. But more than that, she is making the choice to worship the God that she believes in, who would never stop loving her because of her feelings for her best friend. Cassie remains Catholic thereafter, because it is what she cares about, she believes in most of its tenants (eventually including reconciliation and communion), but she will never conform to every idea for the same reason as me. Because some pieces of doctrine interfere with our understanding of God. And God will always be more important than dogma.

So, Crisis of Faith overcome, we rush towards the madness of the climax. Jason Todd decides to be the man he thinks he is, Batman and company attempt to bring down The Seraphim's church from within and Cassie, garbed in a new and improved Angel costume, goes to face off with The Seraphim personally. There's not nearly as much to talk about here, but I can still address a couple of things.

I really wish I was a semi-competent visual artist, because I was so very happy with the second Angel costume. The first one was intentionally kind of gaudy and would have some real problems if worn for real. The second was more practical, but retained my favorite things about the concept.

Despite being one of the first things I planned, the battle with The Seraphim changed A LOT over the course of the project. Early drafts were entirely done on the roof, the church would have been destroyed and The Seraphim would have died with it (remember, the immortality was a late addition) and, at one point, I considered killing Cassie at the story's end too. Mostly because when the thought passed my mind I didn't instantly think, "No." I thought, "Eh. Maybe." Some part of me still thinks it would have been appropriate for her to have died in sacrifice while foiling The Seraphim's plan, and allowing her to die happy, no matter what had happened. But I eventually thought this was too much to put on her character, so I backed out… Sort of. I strongly considered posting a "Cassie dies" ending and leaving the story behind for a little while, maybe two weeks later submitting a "Cassie lives" ending and trolling the readers a little =P. But as much as I've loved writing this story, I really wanted to bring it to an end, so I wrote the one ending I had always planned on.

I think there's something really important about the scene where Stephanie basically talks down The Church of the Voice. Batman has already preyed upon their inherent fears of "Maybe we're doing the wrong thing", and it just takes their minds getting loaded with drugs for them to be scared stupid by a blonde girl in purple. Cassie and Steph basically took their livid imaginations and turned them on their heads, allowing Stephanie to take on a Mary-like role and manipulate the church into betraying The Seraphim. As Stephanie points out as she and Cassie are reading the Bible together, sometimes things can be very important without being true… Although I suppose in a story like this, Stephanie claiming to be an envoy for Mary _could_ be true and she didn't even know it, if you choose to view it that way. And for anyone who might have missed the point, Tim's offhand remark that Batman didn't let him finish was "She's not even a virgin", which, while true, (remember, Steph had a teenage pregnancy) is not at all a useful thing to say aloud. I probably could have explored it more, but I think the implication was also that The Seraphim's congregation was seriously sick of his shit. They were "just following orders" and looking for an excuse to stop. So they got divine intervention.

I suppose there is something of a glaring issue in "How did Cassandra, a character whose speech and understanding of symbols is mostly limited, come up with and outline an elaborate plan for Stephanie to pose as a Mary-figure to call off The Seraphim's forces?" To which I reply, "She did it with the words we didn't hear her say." Sorry, that's the best I've got.

Originally, Stephanie's interruption and the surrender of the church was going to be in the end of chapter 41, leading The Seraphim into a rage that would accompany him for the next chapter and the last fight scene. But ultimately I decided, "Nah, this fight's gone on long enough". The pressure point attack remained, but with the inclusion of The Seraphim's healing factor, was ultimately augmented by repeated stabs with stained glass. Further proving the fact that I already knew: stained glass is the most badass thing ever.

So at long last The Seraphim is defeated and Monsignor Ryan becomes Cassie's secret keeper. Her home life is going well, assisted by her loving and supportive father, brother and Alfred and in spite of some initial awkwardness, she and Stephanie retain their friendship. Possibly stronger than before. She joins the church officially, takes a reciprocated interest in her new friend Sadie and partakes in Communion, the bad tasting ritual said to save a Catholic's soul. Transubstantiation is a crazy thing, but I believe in a lot of crazy things. Like that someone will actually bother to read this far. If you do, I would seriously appreciate it if you used the phrase, "Brother Azarias burning fish liver" somewhere in your review. No real reason, it'd just be kinda funny. That's all.

To me, this is the magnum opus of my fanfiction career. That doesn't mean I won't write more (though I REALLY need to get back to work on my original material), but I don't think I will ever be able to write one that I think will feel as close to me as this one did. It was an insane ride from start to finish. I really do put all my heart into every chapter of every story I write, but there was just something different here, and I'm so proud to say I actually saw this thing through to the end.

You can find me on deviantart with some _Angel_ related material at MnMichael.

I periodically write creepypasta under this same username, MJTR.

You can find my YouTube channel where I post various, silly videos, sketches, adaptions and more at HalfwayBeret.

Thank you so much for taking this journey with me, I hope it meant to you even a fraction of what it did to me. Peace be with you (and with your spirit). This is Michael Joseph Tharnish Roby, signing off.


	48. One Shot: Song of Songs

[[Author's Note: I don't know if this is in continuity with the rest of the story. I really don't. I just really wanted to write it after the news today. Make of it what you will.

When the day comes I feel I can write an even happier version of this without feeling like I'm making light of others, I will. That's a will, not an if.]]

One-Shot: Song of Songs

Nearly three years had passed since those dark days in Gotham. New ones had arisen to take their place, as they always did, but the Church of the Voice had been defeated, never to return. The efforts of the Batfamily, and particularly the final blow dealt by the now illustrious Angel of the Bat had sealed their fate. To most, the corrupted church was a relic, never to return.

But even in the dark of night, the stars and moon shouldn't be forgotten. Even when darkness seems to become all consuming, light remains, however small, however fleeting. Amongst all the terrors that The Seraphim and his servants wrought upon the city, they were also responsible for uniting two strangers, now looking over the nearly frozen Gotham River.

"I still can't believe you got me to swim through that thing. I'm pretty sure it was even colder then." Sadie said, looking down at the jagged rocks and the subway bridge.

"No. It had to be warmer. It is nearly frozen now. It was all just water then."

"You must have better memory than I do, Cassie," Sadie said, shaking her head. "I barely remember what happened… I don't even know how I trusted you to get me out."

"You don't find it strange to come back?" Cassandra asked. "We almost died."

"I know we did. But we didn't. So I don't mind coming back," Sadie said, leaning closer to Cassandra as the two clutched one another's hands. "I say all's well that ends well."

"Even though we almost froze to death?"

"I got to meet you, didn't I?"

Cassandra blushed, turning away from Sadie a little, hardly able to believe how long ago that whole ordeal had been. "I overcame my doubts in God, and found you. All at once." As the two continued to talk, Cassandra slowly ran a hand over the zipper of her heavy winter coat, contemplating the thoughts on her mind.

"You ever suppose those things were related?" Sadie asked. "That that God of yours meant for us to find each other?"

"I didn't really think about feeling the way I do about you before that," Cassandra said, her eyes switching fixations between the water and the ground, unable, for the moment, to look towards Sadie.

"I'm going to label that one as a yes then," Sadie said with a smirk. A moment later, she noticed the way Cassandra had looked away from her. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

The answer was no. Cassandra had felt sick to her stomach since the night had begun, a few thoughts penetrating her mind that she was unable to contain. She'd hardly eaten anything when they'd been out to dinner, and had excused herself before they left, carrying a small backpack and her winter coat into the restaurant's bathroom. Sadie had sensed something was amiss, but decided not to act on it until now.

"Sadie… I need to tell you something," Cassandra admitted with some struggle, releasing her hand and bringing both up to her neck, one continuing to fiddle with the zipper, the other clutching the tiny, silver cross she wore around her neck.

"Um… Okay? What is it?" Sadie asked.

Cassandra looked down, still unsure of how to face her. "I met you three years ago… But there was something I never told you." The two were quiet again before Cassandra added, "Something you should know… If… If we're going to keep working."

"What, are you gonna finally tell me about that high paying job you go to in the middle of the night and pays for your sweet apartment?" When Cassandra said nothing, Sadie began to grow concerned. "Seriously, Cassie, whatever it is-"

Cassandra turned at last to face her, clutching one of her hands as the other finally took ahold of the zipper and slid it down her chest. Sadie watched as Cassandra pulled open her heavy winter coat, the light blue blouse she was wearing earlier now replaced with deep black spandex and a layer of white Kevlar armor, decorated with an ornate, golden symbol, a cross through its center. Sadie stared, first at the armor and then up at Cassandra.

"… I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Cassandra said with some struggle. "I… I didn't want you to worry about me… But if we will be together, you deserve to know." It took a few beats for Sadie to react, but when she did, to Cassandra's surprise, she was laughing. "What? What is it? What's funny?"

"You Cassie," Sadie chuckled. "You making this huge deal out of it… Cassie, I've known for two years now."

"What?" Cassandra demanded, flashing red in her cheeks and pulling her coat closed again. "That… How?"

"I just wanted to be nice about it," Sadie laughed. "But really. A domino mask is the best you can do? You're not the only Asian Catholic in Gotham, but when I noticed you and Angel always got haircuts at the same time, acted the same way and escaped from that Seraph guy... C'mon Cassie, what kind of girlfriend would I be if I didn't notice?"

"So you… You don't mind?" Cassandra asked.

"Mind? Do I mind that my girlfriend beats up Gotham's criminals on a daily basis? Of course I don't mind! When I first figured it out, all I could think was that it made you even cooler than you already were." Although Cassandra was still showing red, her smile and ability to look at Sadie had returned, their happy eyes meeting again. "… Hey, there's something I want to tell you too."

"Oh," Cassandra said, suddenly caught off guard. There had been something else she wanted to say, but she quickly pushed it away for the moment. "What is it?"

"Just a sec," Sadie reached into her pocket, producing and casting a glance at her cell phone for a moment, just to refresh her memory. "Wherever you go, I will go. Wherever you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people. And your God, my God." She delivered the words with a smile of satisfaction on her face.

"That was from Ruth," Cassandra said.

"I know it was. And _yes_, I know it was said from a step-mother to her step-daughter… But the Bible's nothing if not great for appropriating great lines, right?"

"Why did you say that?" Cassandra asked.

"Because. Because when I met you I didn't believe in God. Part of me isn't sure right now either even. But I love you, Cassie. So no matter what I think of philosophy, the universe, whatever, your God should be mine too. That's what I'm saying, Angel girl."

Cassandra gave Sadie her own stare of disbelief for a few seconds before Sadie took a step closer to her, opening her arms for a hug. As she did, Cassandra silently raised a hand and a finger, Sadie double-taking as she took a step back, unsure what Cassandra was trying to say.

"What do you really mean by that?" Cassandra continued to press.

"Well, that I know how important your religion is to you," Sadie replied. "That I couldn't ever ask you to leave it… So if you need me to be a secret forever, I don't care. If you can't ever tell the church about us, I don't care. "I just want to be with you, no matter what that means.

Silence Cassandra remained for a few seconds before looking up at her beloved. "I can't ask you to do that."

"Well you don't have to," Sadie said. "I decided it all on my own-"

"No, you don't understand." Cassandra looked down at the snowy sidewalk the two stood on, kicking some of it aside to reveal the concrete underneath. "There's still something I have to do."

And with that, in the snowy, starry night by the river, Cassandra slid onto one knee, reaching into her coat pocket and producing a tiny jewelry box, Sadie gasping as she opened it, a giant diamond atop a white gold ring sitting within.

"I wanted you to know I'm their angel. I want you to be mine." She looked up, rosy cheeked and teary eyed. "Sadie, will you marry me?"

It took Sadie a few seconds to register her disbelief, and by then she didn't even notice the almost freezing tears in her eyes. "But… But I just said-"

"I know you did," Cassandra said. "But we won't hide. I'm done hiding you."

"But… But what about the church?"

"I care more about what God wants," Cassandra said. "God wants my love. But he wants me to love you too. No matter what that means."

"But what about what they'll think? What if they try and make you leave?"

"They can't take God away from me and they can't take away you," Cassandra said. "If they make me go… I will forgive them. I will always forgive them. And someday they'll understand."

Sadie continued to stare at Cassandra and the ring. "You really think that?"

"I do," Cassandra said quietly, looking away for a moment, glowing redder than before. "You didn't answer my question."

Sadie didn't answer with words. Within a moment she fell to her knees herself and wrapped her arms tight around Cassandra, hugging her close in the freezing streets. "You've spent three years keeping me warm Angel girl. I could go for a lifetime more." With that the two kissed. "Of course I will."

Cassandra gently said the same words only once, but to two parties.

"Thank you for everything. I love you so much."

_Set me as a seal on your heart,_

_As a seal on your arm;_

_For stern as death is love,_

_Relentless as the nether world is devotion;_

_Its flames are a blazing fire._

_Deep waters cannot quench love,_

_Nor floods sweep it away._

[[Love Wins.]]


	49. Thoughts, Thanks and Sequel

I know full and well this site frowns upon posts like this, but upon the cursory glance that this thing really does still amass several dozen views a week, I figured I should say something. Knowing that I got to speak to so many people with a project like this is just overwhelming. Readers like you guys are the reason I will one day be an author. You make me feel over the moon. I hope I've inspired every one of you in some small way. To have a new conversation, to take some time in contemplation, to write me a message about what a blubbering idiot I am for taking this so seriously. It means the world to me.

And frankly, although it's way too early for me to be saying this, I think there's going to be a sequel. Something not so massive, but every bit as personal. In the year and a half since I've started writing Angel, it feels like the world of faith has changed so much. For much better, and for much worse, and Angel has become one of the ways I have become most comfortable facing those uncertainties.

As of right now, I have a ton of unfinished fics that must be dealt with first, and must be dealt with properly. I don't believe in half-assing my writing work. But I think a day is coming soon when I will resume work specifically on Cassandra and The Angel of the Bat. I can't say much about the sequel as little has been decided, but I think it will be more episodic. Appropriately enough, more like a comic book, less like a novel. Less a grand plot and more several smaller ones, perhaps with a uniting one at the story's end.

I'd welcome thoughts from anyone in the review section regarding this. Until then, it has been my pleasure to entertain you all with this story so near and dear to my heart.


	50. Final Announcement: Times of Heresy

Hey again readers.

Writing this more for my sake than any of yours. Since my last announcement about the sequel, I have to admit, I've grown quite a bit more… uncomfortable with the world around me. I know I briefly touched on that uncertainty before, but I'm maybe feeling more displaced now than I ever have been.

Still no official date in which the sequel will come, I still have a lot of work to do elsewhere first, but it will not only happen, but I think I've decided on the title. The sequel will be named _Angel of the Bat: Times of Heresy_.

I never meant for my fics to become my commentary on the world at large, and I'm not under the delusion I'm going to change the world by writing it. Maybe I'm not even sure why I'm doing this at this point, except that I think it would make a damn fine story.

_Angel of the Bat: Times of Heresy_ will come when it comes. There will be darkness, there will be uncertainty, that's just how I'm choosing to deal with the world these days.

Peace be upon you all. We need it more than ever.


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